The Hogwarts Games
by Baby Beluga
Summary: After Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, he took over the Wizarding World. To prevent future Dark Days, Dumbledore and the Ministry enforce The Hogwarts Games- a brutal competition where students must battle each other in a fight to the death. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**The Hogwarts Games**

**Summary**: Tom Riddle never existed. Neither did Ariana Dumbledore. Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and took over the Wizarding World. To ensure that the Wizarding World will never return to the 'Dark Days' of Grindelwald's reign, Dumbledore and the Ministry enforce The Hogwarts Games. AU.

**Disclaimer and A/N**: I don't own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games. I'm not listing this in the crossover category since I'm not introducing HG characters (and also because it would only be listed in the crossover section of the website). There will be similarities to HG, especially at the beginning, but there will be some original material as well.

**Chapter One**

Stars twinkle above me, lighting my nerves afire at the sight. I should be happy to be back at Hogwarts. It's my second home after all. There's nothing like the feeling of magic coursing through my veins, the energy I feel when I cast a spell, but tonight is September 1st- Sorting Day. September 1st: Reaping Eve. Tomorrow is Reaping Day.

Everyone is trying to pretend the Hogwarts Games aren't inevitable. It is the Fifty-First Hogwarts Games this year. They've been happening ever since Albus Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and reached ultimate power in the Wizarding World. I didn't have to worry about them first year- eligibility excludes first years. It would be quite unfair to pair untrained wizards and witches against far more knowledgeable.

Like most of the people in the room, I have never been picked. Those who have are ineligible to be picked again. After last year, that presents a problem. For the Fiftieth Hogwarts Games, Dumbledore wanted it to be memorable, to pound the important message into our heads, so he doubled the amount of tributes.

I glance around the Ravenclaw table and clench my jaw tightly. My friend, Cho Chang, had been a seventh year last year. She was twelfth to die, killed by Marcus Belby, a fellow Ravenclaw who eventually became the victor after killing the forty-seven other tributes. He sits far down the table, not talking with anyone but surrounded by a flock of girls fawning adoringly at him.

Lisa Turpin, a sixth year with the goal of sleeping her way through the entire male student body of Hogwarts, straddles his lap. If only he wasn't a victor, a professor would chide them for such behavior. Then again, if he wasn't a victor, he wouldn't be receiving this attention. He's not particularly attractive or friendly.

I can't help but grit my teeth as I notice one Marietta Edgecombe running a hand through his hair. I used to be friends with Marietta. Rather, Cho was friends with her and Marietta and I were friends because of Cho. I can't understand why Marietta, who once announced that she was Cho's best friend, would throw herself at Cho's murderer.

He's a sixth year, too. We've always had classes together, even paired up as partners in some of them. I haven't spoken to him in a year now, even when we were forced to work together in classes. I don't have the desire to talk to someone who can kill so easily, so carelessly and not be bothered by it.

Each year, I worry that my luck with run out. This year is worse for my nerves than ever. Could it be possible to get past Reaping Day this year and _not_ be picked?

I shake my head, feeling foolish. I mustn't lose hope. It's all that I have at the moment.

Despite how excited we should be to welcome our newly sorted housemates, the atmosphere is tense and quiet. We all think the same thing: will it be me this year? Will I face death? Will I become a murderer to save myself?

I have never had to think about it for too long. I've tried not to. Considering my own mortality when I'm only sixteen years old is far too morbid for me to find it a desirable topic for my thoughts.

Perhaps, had I known that this would have been part of the deal in becoming a student at Hogwarts, I would have rejected my acceptance. I can't be certain though. My unquenchable thirst for knowledge tends to get the better of me.

The sorting hat used to sing. That's what I read in _Hogwarts: A History_. It doesn't anymore. It hasn't since the first year of the Hunger Games. To imagine a hat singing is strange in the first place, but it's surreal to imagine our sorting hat doing such an activity. Whenever its seamy mouth opens to shout out a house, the voice is weary, troubled and sorrowful.

When all the bright-eyed, innocent first years have been sorted, Dumbledore stands and makes a speech. His eyes twinkle with constant mirth, as if he doesn't remember what tomorrow is. But of course, he does. I've sneaked glances at him during the Games, where all students are forced to watch, and seen the unconcealed grins he wears.

Chocolate frog cards claim that Albus Dumbledore is a great man. After my first year at Hogwarts, I got a card with Dumbledore on it. It was long after the Games had ended. I tore it up and refused to ever buy another chocolate frog simply due to the principle of the matter.

I know for a fact that Dumbledore is a horrible, manipulative, and brilliant man, but his brilliance is wasted on pure evil and insanity. I've never told anyone how I feel about him. The walls have ears, and you can never be sure that you're in safe company here.

Mandy Brocklehurst, a fellow sixth year Ravenclaw, nudges me lightly. "Hermione, aren't you hungry?"

I muster a smile. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was daydreaming about this new book I'm reading."

"Oh?" Mandy asks. "What is it?"

"Um." Perhaps I should have thought of a better lie. I'm currently rereading many of my favorites, but Mandy, as my closest friend, knows what I've read and what I haven't. "You caught me. I'm rereading _Hogwarts: A History_."

Mandy giggles. "You're trying to memorize it, aren't you?"

I smile and cut into my roasted chicken. I'm not very hungry, but I know I should eat. Still, with every bite I take, my stomach threatens to force it back up. Eventually I decide to stick to my pumpkin juice, hoping it will ease my nausea.

Mandy studies me, brushing a dark lock of hair behind her ear and spooning up a scoopful of mashed potatoes. She leans in close to me and whispers, "I'm nervous about tomorrow."

I nod. We know better than to discuss the topic too loudly in public. We are supposed to want to be chosen as tributes. The thought alone makes me want to retch.

"I'm sure it will be fine," I say and somehow manage to keep my voice even. "If anything shall happen, you are a great witch and will be prepared." Realizing Terry Boot's eyes are on me, I add, "Besides, Mandy, NEWTs aren't until next year. You have plenty of time to study."

"Yes, but there are plenty of exams before then," Terry pips in, a knowing gleam in his walnut-colored eyes. "You shouldn't waste any time studying."

Michael Corner, Terry's handsome, dark-haired best friend, rolls his eyes as he takes a gulp of his drink. "Can we stop talking in code? We all know what tomorrow is. I, for one, hope I'll be chosen this year. I'm eager to show my skills, and I know that I have no real competition."

His knuckles turn white as he holds his goblet so tightly that it threatens to break. No one believes him, but none of us say anything about it. We all have different methods of handling the Games, and we know it's best not to argue against the expected viewpoint of wanting to be chosen for the games.

That doesn't stop one girl from speaking up about it. "It's rather sad though," she says, her voice as airy as a crisp, dewy, autumn morning. Her light blonde hair is tied into several elaborate knots that only she could manage to look charming in. "This will be our last dinner before six of our own are announced tomorrow and later thrust into the arena. We may be sitting with our own enemies."

It's something that we all know, but hearing Luna say it makes the hair on my arms stand up.

Anthony Goldstein rubs his hands together in a sarcastic applause before returning his arm to the waist of Padma Patil, his on-again-off-again girlfriend and resident gossip monger. "Thank you for that, Luna. That is obviously what we all wanted to hear."

"You are very welcome," Luna says in her dreamy voice, oblivious to Anthony's sarcasm.

Padma giggles into her hand. For some reason, it makes me irritated. I've always found Luna to be more than slightly flighty, but Padma and Anthony's lack of manners towards her are distasteful. I'm glad that Luna is too clueless to notice; while she may have her head in the clouds, she's such a sweet girl and a good friend. It's not that I don't like Padma. We're actually very close. It's just that my nerves are causing me to become irritated about almost everything.

I'm about to comment on it to Padma when I notice she's not looking at Luna, but over at the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy sits, trying to throw Pansy Parkinson's hands off of him as he talks to one of his friends, Harry Potter.

They're probably my least favorite people in the entire school. They've known each other forever and take pleasure in bullying first years. Malfoy hates me because I'm a muggleborn, a Mudblood as he constantly reminds me. Of course, that means that I'm not qualified to even lick the bottom of his shoes- which, for some reason, he believes I want to.

Potter, on the other hand, is son of Lily and James Potter, beloved it-couple of the Wizarding World. James Potter was actually a victor in the Games during his second year, killing his opponents in eight hours flat. It was a record, one that I'm glad I didn't witness. He became an Auror and most recently, he was elected Minister of Magic.

Mrs. Potter was also a victor in the Games during her sixth year. She's known for her philanthropic efforts, her dragon pox cure, and now as the Minister's wife.

Malfoy looks away from Potter for a moment. His slate eyes land on me and he raises a blonde eyebrow, smirking as he does. I throw back a sneer. His other eyebrow arches to join the first in what appears to be surprised, but it can't be. There's a moment of hesitation, but I'm sure I'm only imagining it, before he returns the look. Quickly, I glance down to my food, my cheeks red.

I hate him. I always have. That doesn't mean he's not good looking. And it certainly doesn't mean that I want him catching me staring at him, something I'm sure he'll use against me.

I can feel his eyes on me but I pretend not to notice and dig into my food despite my lack of an appetite. It's better than acknowledging that he's now looking at me.

"Looks like you've got an admirer, Hermione," Padma says, her voice lilting into a coo. "Strange. If there was ever a Ravenclaw I'd imagine Malfoy to gawk at, it'd be Luna. They would have beautiful babies. Then again, you and him could be so romantic together, like Romeo and Juliet."

I'm now regretting insisting that Padma read the Shakespeare romantic tragedy. "Did you skip the ending?" I tease. "That didn't work out too well for them if you remember. Besides, Malfoy's not gawking at me."

"What guy looks at a girl and decides his level of interest based on their future children?" Mandy asks, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes, you're so silly, Padma."

"I'm serious," Padma says, leaning forward. "Have you ever seen a Malfoy who isn't blonde?"

"Can we stop talking about him?" Anthony asks her, squeezing her shoulder possessively. "You're starting to make me jealous, baby."

She swats his chest lightly before placing butterfly kisses all over his face. Mandy gags over her plate, and the rest of us hold back laughter.

"Perhaps it's the Ruxtle Bejil Hodgers," Luna says, her blue eyes bigger than normal. "They live in hair and can cause it to change color, texture, style at any whim. Some wizards and witches have enslaved them to be their personal hairstylists."

I hold back a smile at Luna's antics. Michael chokes on his chicken as he begins to laugh. Terry thumps his on the back so hard that his face falls into his dinner plate. Slowly, Michael regains a normal breathing pattern and wipes food from his cheeks.

The rest of dinner revolves around small talk. We may be the most intelligent house, but we all have tomorrow on our minds.

I stay awake all night with terrifying thoughts, my heart beating out of time and painfully so. I'm so nervous that my bladder keeps forcing me to get up, but as soon as I get to the bathroom, I no longer have to pee. I draw my curtains and put up a silencing charm, humming to myself between sobs. I've never played Quidditch, but I imagine this is what it feels like to be hit in the chest with a bludger- the inability to breathe, the panic, the wishing that it would all just stop.

Finally, when I've cried myself out and soaked my pillows with tears, I dry them with the help of my wand before collapsing into them. That's when I notice the whimpering coming from Padma's bed. She hasn't put up a silencing charm and I could never ignore a friend in pain. I whisper her name and the whimpering stops before she rushes out of her bed and onto mine, throwing her arms around my neck. I redo the silencing charm and listen to her fears about being chosen, about her twin sister, Parvati, being chosen, about Michael being chosen, about me, Mandy, Luna, and even Marietta and Lisa being chosen. She doesn't want anyone in Ravenclaw to be chosen, but there's nothing we can do to avoid that.

Eventually she falls asleep at the foot of the bed. Daylight streams through the windows, only moderately darkened by my bed curtains. No matter what, I know it'll be a strenuous day so I decide to get some sleep.

Just as my eyes begin to grow heavy, Mandy's opening my curtains and peering down at me, her lips grimly set together.

"It's time."

We're organized by house like usual, but the Great Hall is expanded for Reaping Day to fit all of us with the Goblet of Glory and seats for the tributes in the front. The media has already arrived. Notorious reporter Rita Skeeter taps a quill to her lips as she examines us as we walk to the Ravenclaw table.

Reaping Day is required viewing for all of the Wizarding World. It wasn't televised until thirty years ago when the Wizarding World acquired Muggle creations to better our world. Since it didn't used to be televised, the entire Wizarding World had to show up at Hogwarts to watch each day for however long it took to end. Televising it is far more convenient and makes it more difficult for parents of tributes to embarrass themselves in the audience.

At the Head table where the professors all sit, Minister Potter and Mrs. Potter converse with Dumbledore. I wonder how it feels for them to be here when their own son is in jeopardy of being chosen. If it bothers them, they mask it well.

First years sit in the back close to the door to separate them from the rest of us. It's to distance them from the knowledge that, next year, this will be their lives as well.

When the Hall is filled, Professor Snape shuts and locks the doors. No one is allowed to leave the Reaping Ceremony. Professor Snape's eyes betray no emotion. I don't believe he truly knows how to feel. He was a victor, too, during his seventh year of Hogwarts. I look back at the Head table where Minister Potter barely hides a contemptuous glare for the potions professor.

It's well-known that Minister Potter and his friends bullied Professor Snape. Perhaps that's why it was so easy for Professor Snape to kill Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black, two of Minister Potter's friends, during the Games without ever showing the slightest of remorse.

Victors aren't supposed to show remorse though, so Minister Potter's animosity is misplaced.

Professor McGonagall purses her lips as Dumbledore begins to speak. I've always admired her. She doesn't appear to respect the games very much either even though I've never heard her verbalize such thoughts. To do so would be treason and an action worthy of a first-class, one-stop ticket to Azkaban. This is why we must never speak too harshly about the Games or our Ministry.

"We are gathered here today in celebration and remembrance of a terrible time in our history," Dumbledore begins. It's the same speech every year, but it's new to the first years who watch, completely enchanted by the headmaster's false charms. He goes on to discuss the terror Grindelwald inflicted on the Wizarding World, how such actions must never be repeated, how we must be punished and how we must atone for the mistakes of the past, and how it is a glorious honor to do so. Perhaps Dumbledore would feel differently if _his_ head was the one on the chopping block. "Happy Hogwarts Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

It's what he says every year, but I'll never get used to it. I know he thinks the odds in our favor means to be chosen, but that's not what most of us want. There are some who do desire such glory though even though we're all expected to want to be chosen, hence the name of the goblet.

I once read that it used to be called the Goblet of Fire when they still held Triwizard Tournaments when one Hogwarts student would compete with one student from Durmstrang Institute and one from Beauxbatons Academy for ultimate glory. After Grindelwald's defeat, Dumbledore demanded that all students be educated at Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament became extinct.

The first years are staring nervously towards the door, squirming in their seats despite how Dumbledore has already announced that they are ineligible for Reaping Day as first years. I don't blame them for their terror. Inside, I'm feeling it too, but it's much more intense since my life could actually be at risk and they're merely bystanders this year.

Minister Potter speaks next, blathering on about glory, honor, atonement just as Dumbledore did. He, of course, mentions how he was a victor as was his wife. I don't miss the glance he aims at the youngest Potter. I bite my lip, wondering if it's possible that the minister wants his son to be chosen as a tribute.

He has the same luck as the rest of us. The goblet contains the name of every second through seventh year from every house. This year returns to normalcy with the amount of tributes. There shall be twenty-four of us instead of last year's forty-eight. I expected it, but it relieves me nonetheless.

Four houses. Six tributes from each house. Three girls, three boys.

If only each year had only one or two tributes chosen, I might feel safe or perhaps I wouldn't. My thoughts jumble together illogically, and a sense of foreboding misery washes over me. I manage to keep my face calm despite wanting to run out the door- a feat I know is impossible from the severe locking charm Snape did. There have been incidents in the past that have made it necessary.

I look around the hall, spotting trepidation, excitement, terror, sorrow, fear, and more. I wonder how parents can bear to watch this. I'm glad my parents are Muggles. They are completely unaware of the Games and unless I'm chosen and die, that's how they'll always remain.

Minister Potter smiles as he concludes his speech and finishes with the same line Dumbledore did. "Happy Hogwarts Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Hearing it again makes me want to hex them both into oblivion. It enrages me that they don't care at all, that this is some sort of sporting for them. Even more than being angry, I'm scared- because the Goblet of Glory has erupted and green flames blaze through the air as a piece of paper floats down into Dumbledore's hand. We know from the green flames that the first name will be a Slytherin.

"The first Slytherin tribute is," Dumbledore pauses with a smile. I'm sure it's for the drama factor. "Harry Potter."

Slytherin cheers for him while the rest of the houses clap politely. Minister and Mrs. Potter beam proudly at their son. Mrs. Potter's hands clap furiously together with excitement. If my mother was ever that happy I was facing death, I'd probably disown her.

Potter struts up from the Slytherin table to the far right side of the Hall under a large green and silver banner. Now more than ever, the pressure is on. I definitely didn't want to be announced as a tribute before, but now with Potter? The idea is terrifying. His family practically breeds victors; it's in his blood.

The goblet doesn't wait for the applause to die down before it blazes red. Gryffindor. "The first Gryffindor tribute is Ronald Weasley."

Gryffindors applaud loudly, but his sister, Ginny, is visibly stricken by the news. A bit of pity ebbs into me as I watch her swallow and maintain composure. I'm not close with her, but she's a nice girl. I know why she's worried. Ron doesn't stand much of a chance in the arena, especially against Potter. He's at the bottom marks in his classes. I know because I was assigned to tutor him which he thought meant I was assigned to do his homework for him. He's amusing enough, but I'm not sure if he has the survival skills.

Ron's girlfriend, Lavender Brown, squeaks through her tears, audible from two tables over. It would have been a good idea for her not to wear mascara today. If she's still crying if she gets picked, it'll be a poor reflection of her. That's why we all try not to cry when our friends are chosen- because if we show any flicker of emotion, it's considered weakness. And if we're considered weak, we get less sponsors which means less gifts which means a lower chance of survival in the arena.

Hufflepuff is next when the goblet emits orange flames, actually appearing to be real fire compared to the surreal other colors. Justin Finch-Fletchley is next, and Mandy grips onto my arm so tightly that I begin to lose circulation. I don't move though. I know she needs the support. She's been in love with him since third year when they were paired up in Potions but she's never had the courage to ask him out. 'Courage', she said, 'is for bloody Gryffindors. It doesn't logically make sense that he would like me. I mean, have you seen him? He's gorgeous.'

I don't agree with her about that, but that's beside the point. I bite down on the inside of my cheek until my mouth floods with coppery liquid and I quickly drink some juice to rid my mouth of the blood.

The flame is blue this time, and we must be holding our breath because I can't hear anything except a dull rushing in my ears. Who will the first male Ravenclaw tribute be?

"Anthony Goldstein."

I don't notice I'm clapping until I look down at my hands. Anthony forces a smile onto his face, and Padma's breaths become shallow and quick. He looks back at the table to her, but she's busy looking down at her hands. I've never seen her so quiet. Luna stares at Padma with a sympathetic smile, whispering to Padma things I can't make out.

My heart speeds up as the flame turns green. Now it's a female round. Millicent Bulstrode is picked for Slytherin. Padma stops breathing when the flame turns red. She's worried for her sister, Parvati, but it's not Parvati's name that's chosen but Katie Bell's. She keeps her chin high as she walks to Ron with dignity. Hannah Abbott is Hufflepuff's first female tribute, and she sniffles as she walks up to the orange and black banner. It's a bad move on her part. Sponsors won't like that.

The flame flickers blue again, and Mandy's nails dig into my skin.

"We're fine," I tell her as my voice shakes. "Just take a deep breath and relax."

But we aren't, because Dumbledore chills my entire body when he announces, "Mandy Brocklehurst."

For a moment, Mandy doesn't move. It's as if she's been struck by paralysis from the shock. It's one thing to know you're at risk to become a tribute. It's another to actually hear your name called. Not that I would know, but I can imagine.

I want to volunteer for her, to take her place, but I can't. Back in fourth year, she said that she would never want anyone to risk their life for her because of the Games. We made an Unbreakable Vow to never sacrifice ourselves for the other. Luna's brow is crumpled in unhappiness while Padma's eyes flood with unshed tears. Terry, who has had his eye on Mandy for quite some time, stares blankly up at the Ravenclaw banner.

Slytherin's next tribute is the frighteningly buff and rather moronic Vincent Crabbe who exchanges a nod with Potter when he stands next to him. And even though they're Slytherins and I don't like either one of them, I pity them for having to stand up there knowing that they'll have to kill their friend.

Seamus Finnigan is the next to be called, and then Zacharias Smith for Hufflepuff. I realize as the flame turns blue again that we aren't even halfway done. It's a thought that makes my legs turn to jelly.

When Terry's name is called, I decide that this has to be rigged. I have no idea how it could be, but why is this happening? There's usually more variety in years. It's not unheard of for a house to be represented by just one year level, but it's rare.

This reaping is taking longer than usual and it's also more painful to endure. Astoria Greengrass joins those under the Slytherin banner. Her older sister, Daphne, pales rapidly but doesn't volunteer herself.

And then Padma's clinging onto me, filling the void that Mandy left as Dumbledore announces exactly what she didn't want to hear- Parvati's name. Parvati, always filled with grace and constantly donning a smile, is true to her normal self although her smile shakes a bit.

I squeeze her hand as the goblet spits out the youngest tribute so far: Third-year Hufflepuff, Eleanor Branstone, whose hands quiver as she shuffles to the front of the hall from spot at the end of the Hufflepuff table.

Blue again, and that's how I feel. Blue, very, very blue, like I've been underwater for too long and set out to dry- numb.

"Luna Lovegood!" Dumbledore announces, cheery as ever, as I'm holding back a dry heave. I breathe deep through my nostrils, refusing to show weakness here. It's not over yet. Luna skips up to the Ravenclaw banner and begins whispering to Mandy's who has a deadened expression in her eyes.

The goblet throws out the last male Slytherin tribute's name, and somehow I know it's him before his name is called. "Draco Malfoy."

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a fan of his despite how good looking he is. He's still an ass, but our eyes meet again just as they did last night, and my stomach drops. His expression is mostly calm, but I catch the frenzied fear in his eyes. What does he have to worry about?

After all, he's a Slytherin. Sponsors like them a lot, and most Slytherins have been raised learning how to fight well in the Games in preparation. That's not to say that the rest of the houses never have people who are prepared for the Games, but muggleborns like myself and poorer families like the Weasleys don't get that much training. We have to hope that the training we get before the games- the six weeks of training- is enough to survive the Games against people who have been training their entire lives.

But as soon as his eyes land on me and I notice the fear, it extinguishes and is replaced by cool disinterest. I must have imagined it.

Neville Longbottom is announced, and both Ron and Seamus don miserable expressions. Often nicknamed the Terrible Trio for their troublemaking, the three of them have been best friends since first year. I wish someone would volunteer for him, but not one single person does despite knowing that Neville takes a longer time to learn spells. The other tributes will single him out as a target right away which will make any alliance unwilling to include him.

Another third year Hufflepuff is named. Owen Cauldwell, gangly with hands too large for his body, glides up. I shouldn't be surprised that Michael's name is called next since this is clearly becoming a pattern, but I am.

Padma holds my hands under the table as the green flame flickers for the last time before producing the last slip of paper for the Slytherin house. Pansy Parkinson storms up to her housemates, clearly not happy and for once, I don't blame her.

Silver script decorates the emerald banner as each tribute's name is embroidered into it alphabetically:

_THE FIFTY-FIRST HOGWARTS GAMES_

_ SLYTHERIN_

_Millicent Bulstrode_

_Vincent Crabbe_

_Astoria Greengrass_

_Draco Malfoy_

_Pansy Parkinson_

_Harry Potter_

And to be honest, I don't like any of them, but seeing their names on the banner makes it so much realer. We know what the banner is for. It's the tribute banner- each name is removed when the tribute is killed. I've tried not to look at the banners in past years, but last year, I remember the day after Marcus killed Cho, looking up and seeing the vacant spot drilled a knife into my chest.

At best, it means that only one of them will remain on the banner. At worst, none of them will.

Only one can be victor. During the Games, Hogwarts will lose twenty-three students, and this only serves to remind me of that fact.

The goblet glows red again. Gryffindor's last tribute for this year's Hogwarts Games. Dumbledore's lips wrinkle upwards in amusement as he reads the name, and I know it's going to be something terrible, and I'm right.

"Ginevra Weasley."

No one speaks. We're not allowed to, but no one claps either despite applauding for everyone else. We're all too shocked. I can't remember ever seeing siblings pitted against each other. And my heart aches for them. I want to cry for them, and I don't know them well enough to have that courtesy. Ginny doesn't look at Ron, and he doesn't look at her.

I don't want to look up to the banner. I know what I'll find, so I keep my eyes on the goblet, hoping and praying to survive this reaping.

Susan Bones is the last Hufflepuff tribute, and her golden braid swings as she walks with her eyes downcast. I ignore the banner again.

Blue flames- I almost forget that means Ravenclaw. It all comes down to this moment.

And then I swear I hear my name, but Dumbledore's lips haven't moved. The goblet hasn't even spit out a piece of paper yet. I'm only imagining it. I'm not sure if that's better than the actual result.

"The last tribute of the Fifty-First Hogwarts Games is," Dumbledore pauses, looking directly at our table. "Padma Patil."

My ears buzz as if a swarm of bumblebees have flocked into my brain. The first thing I see is Padma's one tear trailing down her face, and then everything happens so quickly. Parvati keels over and vomits on Dumbledore's feet, much to his dismay. I'm waiting for someone to speak up, for anyone to take her place. I look around, but no one meets my eye.

Ron and Ginny examine Parvati and Padma with sympathy and understanding. No, I can't let this happen. I couldn't volunteer for Ginny because I'm not a Gryffindor, but I'm a Ravenclaw. I can volunteer for Padma.

Padma has already stood and began walking to the banner. Once she gets there, it'll be too late. I stand abruptly and my words come out as a whisper that no one hears until finally, I shout the words out just as she's reaching the banner.

"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

Padma whirls around and rushes to me, throwing her arms around me as she mutters gratitude into my ear and assures me that I don't have to do this, but it's out of obligation for our friendship more than due to sincerity which I understand. I tell her to sit back down. She doesn't argue again.

I walk to the banner, only barely registering the thunderous applause, much louder than anyone else's, as it happens. When I turn to examine the hall, I see that Ravenclaw is on their feet. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff join them. Slytherin remains seated, but I notice Daphne Greengrass nodding at me.

It's not that people never volunteer. Siblings often volunteer for each other, but not always. Parvati runs to me from the Gryffindor banner and hugs me, thanking me quietly. I nod firmly as she begins to walk back to her banner. I can't let too much emotion show as Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff continue to applaud. I look over to the Slytherin banner and chill as Malfoy glares at me, shaking his head. He isn't impressed.

Despite knowing I shouldn't, I look up at the banner.

_The Fifty-First Hogwarts Games_

_ RAVENCLAW_

_ Terry Boot_

_ Mandy Brocklehurst_

_ Michael Corner_

_ Anthony Goldstein_

_ Hermione Granger_

_ Luna Lovegood _

For a moment, it's like I'm an outsider watching from above or from the television, safe inside my home hundreds of miles away. Then it hits me- the reality of what I've done, and I don't regret it, but I'm terrified because this can only have one true ending: a sad one.

These are my friends.

And if one of them survives, it will because I'm dead whether they killed me or not. I bite the inside of my cheek again, reopening the cut and regretting it immediately since I have no water to get rid of the taste. I've been forced to watch the Games as part of required viewing in the years past. People change in the games. Your best friends become your enemies, because no one ever wants to die no matter what the cost is. My eyes wander to Marcus Belby and wonder how he did it. Was he as scared as I am?

Did he feel as helpless as I do?

I smile for the cameras until the ceremony ends. We're being taken somewhere, more like I'm being dragged, because I can't focus enough to remember how to walk. This morning, I woke up praying for my name not to be called, and it hadn't been. I sacrificed myself for Padma. It could very well be a suicide mission.

No, I can't think like that. If I'm going to have any chance of winning, I can't doubt myself. I'm going to make it through this. I have to. I'm just not sure how I'll do it yet.

I realize that there's a good chance I won't have to kill my friends, that others will kill them first. I decide then that I'll only kill in self-defense. I'm not going to let the Games turn me into a monster like they've turned others into.

I just hope I can remember that when I'm in the arena.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Hogwarts Games**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games.

**Summary**: Tom Riddle never existed. Neither did Ariana Dumbledore. Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and took over the Wizarding World. To ensure that the Wizarding World will never return to the 'Dark Days' of Grindelwald's reign, Dumbledore and the Ministry enforce The Hogwarts Games. AU.

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! Please keep in mind that, since this is AU, characters may be different, including names, houses, personalities, etc. Now, without furthering foreshadowing, enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

Everything changes when you become a tribute. It's not a secret. Classes start September third, but we no longer attend them. Tributes are excused from classes, like it's a good thing. In reality, we're not allowed to attend. Our lives are about to change, to center around the Games, and then for most of us, our lives will be cut abruptly short.

We'll be matched up to someone in our house of the opposite sex, given a joint mentor and expected to rely mostly on ourselves to learn new material. It seems like everything is happening so quickly and so slowly that I have to stop thinking. Otherwise I'll drive myself insane.

As much as I'd love to sink into an armchair and look up at the artificial sky ceiling of the Ravenclaw common room, I am no longer privileged enough to enter or live there. Instead, I follow Dumbledore, Minister Potter and the rest of the tributes up to the sixth floor and we walk down a very long, winding corridor, eventually passing Dumbledore's office and continuing down the hall.

We reach a large, stone wall and look up at what appears to be a massive painting of the Hogwarts badge. The animals move around their sections, unable to move out of their confinements but growling, hissing, squawking, and squeaking at each other with distaste. What an inconspicuous entrance.

"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," Dumbledore calls out. The animals freeze and the painting splits in two equal parts, revealing a damp, musky hallway with lit candelabras on the corridor walls.

We walk for longer. The silence is punctuated only by Neville Longbottom's deep, asthmatic breathing until the entrance to the common room comes into sight. It's a large, iron lock in the shape of a capital H. Dumbledore and Minister Potter stop in front of us.

"All tributes requiring access to Tribute Tower can only enter the common room by proving their identity," Dumbledore says. "Please hold out your wand, tap your opposite hand three times and repeat after me: for the greater good."

We obey blindly, and my palm immediately stings. I glance down, watching as an H carves into it, spilling blood out. A girlish whine echoes throughout the corridor. I suspect it's Pansy.

Neither Dumbledore nor Minister Potter cut their hands. It's only required for us, for the tributes.

"Now, place your palm on the wall and you'll be given access to your common room," Dumbledore continues. We all do, and before long, we're standing in the hideous common room. "First off, let me welcome you to your new home and congratulate you on being selected for the Fifty-First Hogwarts Games."

I wipe my bleeding hand against my robes, placing pressure against it to stop the bleeding. That's before I remember that I'm a witch and can solve this much easier. Still, it doesn't make me enjoy the idea of cutting my hand open each time I want to enter the common room which, to be honest, could use some serious redecoration.

It's circular, but the walls are painted black. There are no paintings on the wall, no fireplaces, no beautiful night sky ceiling- it's like being inside of a Goodyear tire except I doubt that being inside of a tire would give me this feeling of sinking into a deep abyss. There is a plethora of mismatched furniture with every house color represented, but it doesn't make up for the walls and the lack of windows in the room. I'm sure that the décor is entirely intentional, but I keep my mouth shut.

Pansy, on the other hand, chooses this particular moment to speak up. "God, this is depressing. It looks like death."

Both Dumbledore and Minister Potter ignore her, because that's the point of the décor. We aren't supposed to feel at home. We're supposed to remember the importance of the Games. We're not supposed to want to spend time in the common room. I'm not sure where else we can spend most of our time though.

"As Minister, I'm extremely pleased to be meeting with all of you," Minister Potter says, his hair falling into his eyes. He ruffles it out of his face in a move that could only charm someone much easier to please than me. It's the same obnoxious trait that his son shares with him. "We won't stay too long. I'm sure you'll all want to get settled in and socialize."

Wow, Minister, of course we all want to be best friends with each other. After all, who _doesn't_ want to kill their best friends?

"However, we want you to be aware of the rules that will be enforced during your training period," he says. "Most importantly, you will be unable to use magic against each other until you're in the arena. Training will commence tomorrow so be prepared. It is important that you don't disappoint your house or Hogwarts as a whole."

Quickly, he wishes us luck, although it doesn't sound very genuine, and walks out the common room without so much as a single look at his son. I sneak a glance at Potter and notice his clenched jaw but it's gone before I can blink.

Dumbledore tilts his chin up as he speaks, examining us carefully. Later, wizards and witches will place bets on us, on the order of deaths and who they suspect the victor to be along with other stupid, heartless things. I wonder if Dumbledore participates in such betting. I would not be surprised to learn that he did.

"Tonight has been very interesting. Very interesting, indeed," Dumbledore's eyes are on me as he says this part. I do not look directly into his eyes but at his chin instead, attempting to hide my disgust and hatred for him. "A few things you should remember: the common room locks completely and will not open for any of you after your curfew, which is ten PM.

"Upstairs you'll find individual bedrooms and bathrooms. They will not allow anyone in except the person who the bedroom belongs to. Once you enter your bedroom for the night past midnight, it will lock and will not open until morning when before breakfast. I'm sure you understand that the precautions are necessary. I look forward to watching your participation in this year's Games."

He says a few more things, but I'm not paying attention. _I look forward to watching your participation in this year's Games_. He might as well have told us he's looking forward to watching us die. I suppose he would like to believe that he's too tactful for that. When he leaves, it's not a moment too soon.

We stand together silently, studying each other. I muster stoicism and don't look at my housemates. They could be judging me at this very minute. It may be weeks until we enter the arena, but the Games have already begun for us. We are all our own islands. Each individual can rely only on their own ability. We are enemies now, but I can't force myself to hate any of them enough to imagine killing them.

Slowly, one by one, people drift upstairs. No one wants to talk tonight which works perfectly for me.

I find my bedroom easily enough. It's the fifth floor of the tower, and it's adequate but it's still plainly decorated. The most elaborate thing about the room is the ornate, golden plate with my name listed on the door. At least the room has a window, albeit small and unable to be opened, to make me feel less of a prisoner. I lay down on my bed and think to myself about how deep of a mess I've gotten into.

Hours pass slowly, but eventually, the door swings shut and clicks, locking just as Dumbledore said it would. I plop down on my bed and let out a whoosh of air. My shoulders relax as I rest on the black comforter. Time goes on before the stairs creak again. Someone must have actually chosen to hang back in the common room. The sound of rustling paper causes my gaze to drift towards the door, and I spot a piece of paper. The stairs creak again, signaling that the person has departed.

Logically, I know that they could have cursed the paper. But Minister Potter said we couldn't use magic against each other here, and honestly, it's not like I have much to lose by seeing what the paper is.

It's crumpled as if it's been in someone's pocket for days, but I know it hasn't when I read the message.

_I've always wanted to see how muddy your blood truly is. It looks like I finally have the chance. _

I know who it's from immediately. I clench my fist together. The paper crinkles and I let it fall to the floor. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to get in my head, psych me out before we even begin training. But he's not going to, because I'm too strong to let him bother me with his childish taunting.

I don't realize that I've fallen asleep until the sun fights to shine through the tiny window. After showering and dressing, I find every tribute, with the exception of the Slytherins, in the common room.

Mandy gestures to me. "We were waiting for you. Let's go down to breakfast," she says. Her usually sparkling honey eyes lack their normal vibrancy. Her lips are forced into an ugly frown so tight that it scrunches up the rest of her face. She's angry, but I figure that it's just because she's been chosen as a tribute.

"Thanks," I say to the group. "Where's…everyone else?"

Ginny snorts. "Who cares about them?"

Susan Bones tells me that they already went down to the Great Hall. Each left individually which would strike me as odd if it wasn't for the fact that they're Slytherins. It would be a better idea to walk down alone, to cut off attachments from friends, but none of us want to walk through the Hall alone to the Tribute Table.

The walk is far less dauntless to the table with the others. The Tribute Table is stationed in front of the Head Table. Unlike the Head Table, it's not raised on a platform. We do not sit at our old house tables anymore. Icy fingers grip my heart as we pass the Ravenclaw table.

The Slytherins sit together despite arriving individually. There is only so much space at the table. They do not talk to one another though. The first thing I notice about him is his platinum blonde hair, forcing me to remember his note from last night. I won't let it bother me right now. I'll be matched up and given my mentor today, and I have to make a good impression.

None of us talk to each other. I pretend not to notice Malfoy's eyes on me. He wants a reaction to his note. Well, I won't give him one. Not now. Maybe later. I'd love to punch him. I've always thought he deserves a good one, right in the face, every time he calls me Mudblood, teases me in class, and just about every time he looks at me. I know that I'm oversensitive about him, but his prickly persona leaves me in tangled knots of frustration and confusion.

Finally, Luna breaks the silence, eyes scanning the newspaper intensely as she struggles to keep her bottom lip from trembling. "Oh, my. Have you seen _the Prophet_ today?"

I reach for her copy. In bold, the headline jumps out at me: GAMEMAKERS ANNOUNCED!

It changes each year with only two exceptions. The Head Gamemaker is the oldest victor of the Hogwarts Games and remains so until death. Dressed in entirely pink, wearing a cat brooch, and a frilly pink hat adorning her curled bob, Dolores Umbridge's toady face beams up at me among the other Gamemakers.

James Potter is the other exception. He's Minister. As such, he's expected to be a Gamemaker, no exceptions. After all, why else would the Ministry require Ministers to be victors of the Games if there wasn't anyone representing the head of the Ministry each year?

Everyone else has less stable positions though. Some years, victors are Gamemakers and some years, they're expected to be mentors. I'm not sure how it works, but I've noticed that the Gamemakers tend to exclude younger victors.

I don't know when they decided on the Gamemakers. I think it's a matter settled on in Dumbledore's office. It's never done in public, only announced the day after Reaping Day.

I match the names under the photograph to the people in the picture gathered around Umbridge and the Minister: Bellatrix Black, Rosmerta Bowden, Alecto Carrow, Bartemius Crouch Jr., Gwenog Jones, Alice Longbottom, Xenophilius Lovegood, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Severus Snape.

I almost spit out my pumpkin juice for several reasons. I chance a look at Snape. Our DADA professor is one of the most unsociable, miserable men in the existence of the world, and he doesn't look pleased in either the photograph or his position at the Head Table. Our Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, must notice because he claps him on the back with good humor, only to be met with an icy glare cold enough to freeze Hell over.

There are two Hufflepuffs- Rosmerta Bowden and Gwenog Jones, but there's only one Ravenclaw, and it's Luna's father. It won't put us at a complete disadvantage and it's really not entirely surprising, but it's disheartening. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin has wielded many victors. Ravenclaw has also produced a decent amount, but there were four Ravenclaw Gamemakers last year. I didn't expect any this year so I should be grateful to have at least one.

I lean forward to Luna and make sure my voice doesn't carry. "Luna, it's better this way. He's not a mentor."

"Of course, you're right," she says, her voice light and airy but her eyes speckle with doubt.

When it comes down to it, I know she would prefer her father to be a Gamemaker than a mentor. After all, parents can't mentor their own children. The goblet prevents it. It's part of the atonement of the Games.

Neville has dodged the same bullet since his mother is a Gamemaker. Despite the note Malfoy sent me last night, I'm not heartless enough to be unrelieved by how his parents won't be put in the awkward, painful position of mentoring other students to kill their son. If Malfoy's bothered by this, he doesn't show it in other any way besides cutting up his scrambled eggs harshly.

Potter, it seems, may only be half-safe. Perhaps Mrs. Potter won't be chosen by the goblet for a mentor, but I wouldn't want to have to be in Potter's position of wondering if she will be.

I force down a piece of toast, some eggs, and bacon. I'm not hungry at all, but I need to keep my strength up. Remembering that today will be the beginning of training causes me to nibble on a banana for insurance. I don't want to pass out at our first training if we're doing spell work. It'll make me an easy target to the others.

When breakfast ends, the doors open to reveal approximately forty adults in lines, wearing green, red, blue, or yellow robes. They are the past victors, our future mentors, and it's time. Some of them wear bloodthirsty, eager, excited expressions, the need to kill prancing in their eyes like they miss their own Games, caught in a beautiful shred of nostalgia.

Others are much less enthusiastic. The most recent Ravenclaw victor is Marcus, and he does not carry the zealous expression that the girl next to him, Penelope Clearwater, does. I know Penelope from her victory four years ago and how she was Marcus' mentor last year. There are plenty of other Ravenclaws that I recognize, but the one I don't recognize, that I never recognize, is the one that always intrigues me.

A somewhat thin man with graying hair, shabby, blue robes, and a few scars marring his aging face wobbles as he stands. He's not too old, but he looks older than he is. I don't know his name. He has never been chosen by the goblet to be a mentor or given the 'honor' of being a Gamemaker during my time here at Hogwarts. He is rather disheveled, and I'm not sure how he could have possibly won his own Games despite how hard I'm trying to keep from judging him.

"Today we are gathered to learn who shall lead our honorable tributes into the arena," Dumbledore says from his position at the center of the table behind us. I should turn my body around to face him, but I stay facing the goblet and incline my head only slightly to give the appearance of listening. I'm not the only one who doesn't want to look at Dumbledore. "And now, I think it suiting to welcome our past victors back to our hallowed halls with a merry round of applause."

The Hall erupts into applause, and the Slytherins holler in approval and wave at relatives who don't return the gesture. They are not the only house to cheer, but they are the house with the most on their feet with applause.

I would like to believe that most people find the Games to be unnecessary and cruel. To me, it seems obvious, but there are many students at Hogwarts who disagree. That doesn't mean they don't fear the Reaping, but it does mean they enjoy the spectator sport of the Games without feeling the cold sting of guilt for loving it.

I cannot lie to myself and pretend the Games do not fascinate me. It's amazing watching my peers duel each other. What I can't deal with is the killing. But, if they were just duels, I suppose there would be no real atonement.

Shortly after, the media enters the room and begins to wait for the announcements.

"Our tributes have a long journey in front of them," Dumbledore continues, looking solemnly around the Hall with a flash of regret in his eyes. It makes me want to laugh. Regret? He could put a stop to the whole thing if he wanted to. "We have the pleasure of watching them grow and to witness who shall triumph. Alas, many weeks away and I'm already ready. Without further ado, let's begin!"

The goblet takes it as a cue to flash yellow. Hufflepuff will be first today. Unlike last night, it will match every Hufflepuff tribute to their mentors before announcing for any other house. The Hufflepuff tributes stand from the table and walk over to Dumbledore and the Minister.

The goblet spits out a piece of parchment and Minister Potter catches. Today, he has the honor of reading the tribute names while Dumbledore will read the mentors from a separate piece of paper.

"Hannah Abbot and Justin Finch-Fletchley are the first tribute match," Minister Potter announces, clapping his hands together.

Hannah's hands lace behind her back tightly, while Justin manages a calm smile.

A flash of light bulbs spark as The Daily Prophet photographer snaps a shot. Rita Skeeter stands close to him, with the rest of the media, her quill scribbling furiously in the air against parchment.

The goblet throws out another piece of paper- the name of the first mentor. Dumbledore reads it quickly before revealing it, "Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff Victor of the Forty-Eighth Hogwarts Games."

I remember him from his Games. I have forgotten what the Gamemakers ranked him, but I'm curious. I hadn't thought he would win.

Hannah and Justin both smile full-heartedly now. It's much easier to handle when your mentor is someone who know. They move to the left side of the Hall.

Susan Bones and Zacharias Smith are matched next and Rosmerta Bowden, the owner of the widely successful chain of the Three Broomsticks located all throughout the world, is elected their mentor. I've never seen her as a mentor, but as a Gamemaker during my first and fourth year. She's the victor of the Seventh Hogwarts Games.

That leaves Owen Cauldwell and Eleanor Branstone, the youngest tributes of us all, unfortunately matched together. It's unfortunate for them, but it's lucky for the rest of the Hufflepuff tributes. While they won't be expected to stay together in the arena, alliances can be formed and often matches provide the starting ground for alliances. No one would want Owen or Eleanor in their alliance because they're so young which equals inexperienced.

The goblet tosses the last Hufflepuff mentor's name out and into Dumbledore's hands. "Nymphadora Tonks, Hufflepuff Victor of the Forty-Fourth Hogwarts Games!"

A woman with mousy brown hair steps forward. For a quick second, her hair flashes blue before recovering its normal color. So she's a Metamorphmagus. It must have helped her in her Games, but I can't see how it'll help Owen or Eleanor. Her face is wrinkled with sorrow, probably from getting the youngest tributes. For most mentors, it's viewed as a hopeless case.

Hufflepuff claps wildly for their housemates just as the goblet flickers with emerald flames. Slytherin. Ugh, the wait is killing me, making my insides gnaw at me. The Slytherins stand proudly. Each of them tilts their chin up with pride. It's something I've noticed they do, especially as they walk, so that they can literally look down their nose at you.

I try to keep my eyes off of Draco's back, but I allow myself a moment to watch him. I want to see if his perfect façade will fall like it did last night, if anyone else will notice or if it's a moment to be mine and mine alone.

Millicent Bulstrode and Vincent Crabbe are matched together, which makes sense in my opinion, because they're both extremely masculine looking but not the brightest. Intellect isn't always the important part of the games. Sheer muscle can be significant too. I'll be avoiding them during my time in the arena. Marcus Flint, the champion of the Games my first year, is selected as their mentor.

Potter and Parkinson are paired next. Parkinson squeals with delight and grabs onto Potter who lightly pushes her away, looking far less pleased. Regulus Black, Potter's godfather, is their mentor. Potter breathes in relief at the goblet's choice before composing himself.

It leaves Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass as the last Slytherins to be matched. It has to be Slytherin's most powerful match this year. Both of them are at the top of their classes and extremely skilled with their wands. However, a bad mentor could spell trouble for them.

But it's not a bad mentor at all. It's a man with dark hair with a red streak in it, a ruggedly handsome face, and an arrogant grin gracing his cheeks. His name is Scabior Rosier, and the way the Slytherins are whispering amongst themselves at their table assures me that Scabior must have been a strong victor, one that the Slytherins are eternally proud of. I've never researched the Games before despite my love of research and learning, but now, it will become a top priority for my survival.

The goblet turns red, and I can't stifle my groan. Luckily, no one catches it as the bench scraps against the ground as the Gryffindors stand. It's only a matter of time until I develop an ulcer from all this stress. My neck prickles with heat and I look to the right side of the Hall where the Slytherin tributes stand. He's watching me again.

"Ginevra and Ronald Weasley," Minister Potter announces. I'm not sure if their matching is a positive or negative thing. Yes, they'll have each other to the end if they keep their alliance and remain unharmed, but they'll have to constantly face each other knowing that they're going to kill their sibling.

A man with a red ponytail donning red robes stands with crossed arms as he watches the two before Dumbledore opens the piece of paper that will tell him who the Weasleys' mentor is.

"Lily Potter."

Dumbledore doesn't add the year of her victory. It seems he has forgotten what he should say.

The Minister's face turns an unpleasant ashen shade. Potter tilts his chin up more, surrounded by his fellow tributes, to show it doesn't bother him. Mrs. Potter walks forward, offering the fellow redheads a watery grin. It will not reflect weakness on her son if she cries but she's the Minister's wife, and she won't want to show that sort of emotion.

Then there's Seamus Finnigan and Katie Bell, and their mentor is Gideon Prewett which causes a sharp intake of air to be audible from Ginny. It's not loud enough for the whole Hall to hear, but I don't miss it. During Magical Studies first year, we had to learn about pureblood families. Gideon is Ginny and Ron's uncle. While I feel a smidgen of pity for Potter, my heart truly goes out to Ginny and Ron because they're likable enough.

Neville and Parvati are automatically matched together, and they wait nervously to know who their mentor will be.

Minister Potter announces it with no sympathy. Perhaps his quota for sympathy has been exhausted by his own family's ordeals. The Gryffindor table doesn't clap for the mentor, not because they don't value him as a past victor, but because they're too shocked. This isn't abnormal. It happens sometimes. It happened with the Potters just earlier, but Mrs. Potter was in a different house than her son is.

Having a relative mentor someone else in your house is a painful blow to a family and to a house.

The man with the ponytail steps up, Bill Weasley, nods at his siblings gravely and greets his tributes.

I'm barely aware of the fire turning blue as I watch Ron whisper into Ginny's ear. Mandy pulls me up by the sleeve of my robe to assist me in standing. I hear a seam in my sleeve rip, but I'm too busy observing Ginny and Ron. She nods fiercely at him, her face wrinkled with determination as she fights away her misery.

Now is the time when it will become difficult for me- even if we get the best mentors possible.

"As for our last house, Ravenclaw, the first match is," Minister Potter draws it out slowly, so slowly that whines gather throughout the Hall. He chuckles to himself. "Patience is a virtue…Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot!"

Marcus Belby's name is shouted out, and the Ravenclaws' thunderous applause is deafening. As tributes, we clap as well for the most recent victor. It's a matter of respect.

My heart pounds painfully. It's down to Luna, Anthony, Michael and me. I wait for my name as Minister Potter reads the names of the next two tributes, but it's not me. It's Luna and Michael, leaving Anthony and me glancing anxiously at each other. It hasn't been announced yet, but we've been automatically matched as a result.

Anthony is intelligent and deft with his magic. In reality, any of the Ravenclaw male tributes would have made a powerful match. We wait as Dumbledore announces that Penelope Clearwater has been selected as their mentor. Both Luna and Michael smile widely. Having a mentor who coached the most recent victory to victory is a dream come true. Penelope beams with excitement. I remember reading some of her interviews after her victory.

_'It was an honor to be chosen. I hope I can represent my house well as a victor and look forward to the opportunities in society available to victors. I have always wanted to be a tribute, but I feared that I would not survive. The Games have changed my life, and I'm so very grateful.'_

I had rumpled up the newspaper and threw it away shortly after reading the interview. She's intelligent, but I've never liked her.

It's all happening so fast and so slow that it makes me woozy. I hold onto the crook of Anthony's arm for support.

"You alright, Hermione?" he mutters so no one will catch it.

"It's only nerves," I say, flashing a friendly smile at him. "Thank you for your concern."

He smiles back cordially, but his eyebrows furrow as if he doesn't believe me. He doesn't push the topic though. We both know the importance of keeping up an appearance.

My name sounds foreign in Minister Potter's mouth. For a minute, I forget that it's my name. Hermione Granger. So oddly strung together, so casually stated like he does this all the time.

Anthony and I exchange another look. I can't comprehend what he's feeling at the moment, because I can barely understand my own emotions.

The last piece of paper floats through the air before the flames extinguish, leaving only a large wooden goblet in its place.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. "Remus Lupin, Ravenclaw Victor of the Twentieth Hogwarts Games!"

A man in blue robes stumbles forward through the Hall. It's the man I never recognize- the shabbily dressed, scarred one. He tumbles over onto the Ravenclaw table but pulls himself up and continues walking.

He's drunk, snarling as a student tries to help him. The student steps back quickly, terror in their eyes, and Lupin responds with a crooked grin.

My smile falters as I realize it. This could be the thing that gets both Anthony and I killed.

Lupin doesn't make it over to us. He rests his hand on Minister Potter's shoulder for support as he sways involuntarily. Then he keels over and there's a strangled retching. The putrid smell of vomit taints the air as Minister Potter tries to pull away but is unable to escape Lupin's grasp.

A frenzy of cameras click as they relish in capturing the horrifying moment. I know I can't react, show how terrified I am. I think of my parents- of our vacations to France, camping in the Forest of Dean, going into Diagon Alley with them for the first time.

Then I think of my friends- Mandy, Luna, Padma, laughing as we exchange gossip, rather listen to Padma and Mandy discuss the hottest guys in school, celebrating our birthdays together, appeasing Luna and searching for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden during the summer break before fifth year.

I remember my first kiss. It was with Viktor Krum, one of the rare, kind Slytherins down at the lake after he was chosen as a tribute. He was the second one left standing, only to be killed by Ernie Macmillan, the Hufflepuff victor who no one dares mention due to how he jumped off the Astronomy Tower after the Games ended.

No, that's not what I want to think about as the cameras continue to click, click, click. I remember the one time that Malfoy's been nice to me- the day after Victor's death where he found me outside in the snow and didn't speak to me, just walked over to me and wrapped his arms around me.

No, I _can't_ think about that. It doesn't change anything. We both pretended it never happened. We've never mentioned it. But I wouldn't want it to change anything because then it'd be even harder to hate him. I can't hate him despite everything horrible he's done to me, just because of that one day.

I have to rise above having a terrible mentor, one who deems it appropriate to get so smashed that he vomits on the Minister of Magic. Rita Skeeter's eyes dance with amusement, and the crowd of past victors look torn between sharing her delight, shock, horror, and disgust.

Lupin vomits again, wiping his mouth with his stained robe and sways again before falling into a pool of his own vomit, unconscious.

We've stayed the required time, been matched and given our mentor. We have no other obligation to stay as long as we make it to training. If we continue to stay here with our mentor presenting himself so poorly, it will begin to reflect negatively on Anthony and I.

No, we'll take the initiative to leave to show that we're unbothered by this, that it's only a minor setback but nothing to be concerned with.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper to Anthony. We walk past Lupin, Dumbledore, and the Minister as Dumbledore calls over Madame Pompfrey. No doubt, he'll want someone else to clean up the mess. His voice is soft but the fury in it is undeniable. I would not want to be Lupin right now. Anthony turns his head slightly. I keep my voice down and say, "No. Head forward. Calm and collected."

We pass through the Hall, not looking at anyone. It's not until we're out of the Hall that Anthony groans.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he says and wanders off in search of a bathroom.

Heat overwhelms me. I powerwalk to the entrance, relaxing as the breeze hits my face. I don't stop until I'm down by the lake, my back rested against the mighty oak tree. I should be in the library or practicing magic, but I promise not to stay out here for too long.

Besides, training will begin in a few hours, but will Anthony and I actually be expected to train? By that point, Lupin could wake up, get drunk again, get alcohol poisoning and die. They'd have to assign us a new mentor then, right? I'm shocked by my own cruelty. For a moment, a part of me wanted Lupin to die. I push the feeling away, knowing all it will do is make me angry.

Footsteps pad through the grass. Someone is standing out of my eyesight, but I don't look to see who it is.

"Well, Granger, today's shaping up to be rather interesting, isn't it?"

I don't need to look because I know who it is just by the melodic, musical, taunting voice that permeates the air.

Malfoy.

**A/N: Please remember to review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Researching things for this chapter was ridiculous. I'm due for a good nap now!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, all! Sorry it's taken me a bit longer to get this one up and that it's definitely shorter. I've been vigorously working on my own book (got about 39,000 words since the last time I wrote) so I've been totally preoccupied. Your reviews, alerts and faves have been greatly appreciated though! **

**Chapter Three**

Sunlight bounces off his gelled, blonde hair. He's wearing his trademark smirk, and I roll my eyes before focusing back on the lake. I don't have the patience for this right now.

"Go away."

"That's not very nice," Malfoy points out mockingly, taking a seat in the grass beside me.

"Nice?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised that 'nice' is in your vocabulary. What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be off with Potter hexing Peeves and practicing dark magic on first years?"

His eyes slit like a cat. "Don't talk about things you don't understand, Mudblood."

"Did you come out here just to insult me?" I ask and tuck my knees up to my chest.

"No, but what would the point of seeing you be if I didn't get to tease you first?" he asks. He reaches down to the ground and picks up a small pebble, rolling it in his palm. I sense it's rhetorical so I don't answer. "Did you get my note?" he asks, sneering. I don't answer, and merely allow my eyes to shut in exhaustion. A few moments tick by. "Are…are you _ignoring_ me, Granger?"

His voice wavers between irritation and amusement. "Fine, I can play this juvenile game, too."

Of course, I don't respond. I'm not worried about how much time elapses, but Malfoy can't handle it. His tongue clucks with disapproval every so often. Eventually, I stand up and begin to walk away.

"Hey, we aren't done talking here!"

I don't stop until his fist clenches around the crook of my elbow and makes it impossible to move. I try to wiggle out of his grip, but it's firm and unforgiving.

"I see nothing further to discuss," I snap. I reach for my wand, but when I touch it, I realize it's pointless. I can't use magic against him until the arena. Perfect. "Let me go."

"No," Malfoy snarls, his eyes bright with fury. I barely restrain from throttling him. He has no right to be mad. "You're going to talk to me whether you like it or not."

"So this is how you get girls to talk to you?" I say, forcing myself to scoff as if his anger doesn't intimidate me at all. "I can't say I'm surprised."

He lets me go, and circulation rushes through my arm again. I rub it, trying to ease the pain. Stupidly, I don't leave. I don't even try to move.

Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head at me. "You deserved that note, you know."

The confidence in his voice sends goose bumps across my flesh. "How do you figure?"

His lips tighten, as if I should know the answer. When I place my hands on my hips and continue to glare at him, he realizes that I'm not getting it. He explains, "You made me angry, Mudblood."

His explanation makes me grit my teeth together. I made him angry? That's his justification for that stupid, insensitive note? It's so unbelievable that I let out a giggle, and then a chuckle, and then a series of cackles. He takes a step back, and his eyes dart around the grounds.

Realizing I must look insane, I catch my breath, shoot him a glare and stomp back to the castle. The last thing I see before I stride away is Malfoy's gaping mouth, similar to a goldfish, and gleaming eyes watching me leave.

When I arrive in the common room, Anthony is the only one in there. I begin to rant about how much I despise Malfoy, and Anthony listens kindly. I'm still raving a half-hour later when the door clangs open and reveals a sobered, yet still untidy, Lupin who offers us a sheepish grin, as if silently asking us to forget about today's events. Anthony and I follow him into a training room off the common room without a word.

We sit down at a rickety table, and Lupin gestures around. "My name, as I'm sure you know, is Remus Lupin. You may call me Remus if you like."

It's funny. I haven't thought of him by his first name since Dumbledore announced him as our mentor. I only call people by their surnames if I don't like them, and it probably would be a good idea to not let Lupin know how much distaste I hold for him.

"I'm Hermione. This is Anthony," I say quickly because introductions are rather frivolous. We all know each other's names. "What are we working on today?"

"I was thinking we could research a bit about former Games. I do need to mention that I need to know your preference on training for tomorrow and future training. Would you prefer to train together or alone?"

I know Anthony will want the same thing, and I feel no guilt when I answer, "Alone," just as Anthony indicates the opposite. His eyebrows threaten to disappear into his hair. He's offended, but I have to look out for myself.

"I see," Remus says with a nod. "Very well. Let's get to the library. I'll want you to read a book on a decade each week. This week's reading will be shorter since the forties only had five years of Games. I suggest you get ahead of the readings. They'll help you more than you realize now. Today is the only day we'll research during training. To be frank, I've got a bit of a hangover, and I wasn't prepared to be chosen as a mentor."

"You don't say," Anthony says sarcastically.

Remus has the courtesy to blush. "Yes, well, so it goes."

His gaze flickers between the two of us, and I know he's challenging us to identify the quote which I can easily do. But the words anger me.

"Kurt Vonnegut, _Slaughterhouse Five_," I say quietly. "It's written after each death in the novel which doesn't instill much confidence in how you view us. I want you to be honest, sir. Tell me if you have any real intentions of helping us, because if you don't, I'll excuse myself and train myself for the arena."

Of course, I couldn't survive without a mentor. They're the ones who handle sponsors and handle gifts from said sponsors. There are times in the arena when you need something very badly and are only saved by your sponsors. Last year, the arena was a desert, and Marcus couldn't find a water source. Penelope sent him a water bottle just in time. It's likely he would have died otherwise. He was far off course for the water source.

"I can assure you that it isn't necessary, Hermione," Remus says sincerely. "I was unprepared for today, and I apologize for my actions, but I will do whatever I can to assist you both in the Games."

I nod unsurely at him, not sure if that will be enough to keep us alive.

Even though Remus has only mandated the first book for this week, I decide to take his advice and get ahead on the reading about the past Games. It makes me sick to read about it, but I tell myself that it's only research.

The Games began in 1945, and the first victor was a fifth-year Slytherin named Olive Hornby. I try not to look at her photograph. It makes me shudder due to the dead, haunted gaze that stares back at me. I sigh, curling up in my bed and mentally preparing myself a long night of reading.

_Olive Hornby was the victor of the First Hogwarts Games and in retrospect, a rather atypical one. She used her wand only to defend herself in the arena, never to kill or attack anyone. She preferred sneaking up on her opponents, silencing them and bashing their heads in with a rock. She used the same rock for each kill and it was later placed in a trophy case inside of Hogwarts. Before the Games, she was initially ranked as eighth…_

I stare down at the book, blinking as if that will make the words change. I've seen that rock, but I never cared enough to read the plaque next to it. I inhale heavily, knowing that I can't be squeamish about this.

I manage to read through fifteen years without cringing like before, trying to ignore the photographs as I take in the information.

My breath catches as a young woman with a toady face grins happily. It's none other than the Head Gamemaker herself, Dolores Umbridge, as a sixth year. I'm not surprised to see that she was a Slytherin.

_Dolores Umbridge, arguably the most meticulous victor of any of the Hogwarts Games, found a hidden cave in the arena and wrote out her game plan on the cave walls including the order and method of killing each tribute... _

And here I thought my estimation of her couldn't sink any lower. I hold my hand over the photographs of the cave to ensure I won't accidently see them as I note her rank: first. I frown, not entirely shocked by it but not pleased either.

A fair amount of winners were clever but not cruel. For some reason, it's only the brutal victors that cause me to pause. It had to be more than coincidental that the cruelest victors were Slytherins.

_Bellatrix Black, victor of the Twentieth Hogwarts Games, was a fifth year Slytherin when selected by the goblet. She Confunded her opponents, lured them to sparse areas of the arena, and tortured them with the use of the Cruciatus Curse for information on other opponents before ultimately killing them. While some found her strategy controversial, it is noteworthy that she is the only victor in history to ever directly kill all twenty-three of her opponents…_

I force back the urge to retch. I can handle reading about the victors who killed only out of necessity, but the ones who tortured and brutally murdered theirs make me physically sick to my stomach. Not only that, but it makes me wonder if there'll be anyone like that this year- how will they kill? Will it hurt?

I refuse to think about it any longer. It'll drive me crazy if I do. Instead, I skim through pages dedicated to Gideon Prewitt, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and James Potter, strangely satisfied when I note the lack of brutality in their Games.

My fingers tremble as I read the name emblazoned on the next page.

_The Thirtieth Hogwarts Games was another miraculously unique year for the Games. Ravenclaw Victor, Remus Lupin, was a fifth year when he became a tribute. Mr. Lupin's victory has been the most widely discussed and debated in history. He was ranked twenty-fourth before the Games started. Mr. Lupin is the only victor in history to have been ranked past twelve to win. He is also the only tribute ever to be ranked last and survive past two weeks in the arena._

_ However, Mr. Lupin's win is one that many believe was a fluke. Due to his lycanthropy, Mr. Lupin possessed an unnatural advantage during his Games. Without the required dose of Wolfsbane, Mr. Lupin proceeded to attack and kill his remaining opponents. Despite becoming victor during the full moon, it was deemed unsafe to end the Games until the next morning when Mr. Lupin had returned to a proper state of mind. Understandably, Mr. Lupin has experienced far less success following his academic career than other former victors have due to the nature of his flawed victory._

I can't read anymore tonight. How am I supposed to face Remus tomorrow? Despite knowing that I couldn't have prevented the goblet from selecting him, I wish I could have. He was treated differently than the other victors- just because of his lycanthropy. Sure, Hornby, Umbridge, and Black could do horrifying things to their victims, but when a werewolf without Wolfsbane eliminates his competition, it's a flaw?

I'm disgusted- not by Remus, but by whoever wrote this book. I shut it, promising to read it tomorrow and examine the cover. Rita Skeeter. I can't say I'm too shocked.

One thing sticks out in my mind.

He was ranked dead last and his victory was acquired in a way I can't be trained in. I can't turn into a werewolf, and if he was ranked last and only won based on his lycanthropy, I could be in more trouble than I originally believed. No, Remus was placed in Ravenclaw for a reason. He has to be intelligent. Even if I can't use his strategy, he has to be able to help me formulate a decent one.

Besides, if he can't, I'll figure out a strategy myself.

**A/N: Sorry that it's so, so short! But I wrote this bit a while ago and wanted to add to the length but realize now that I should just put this chapter up. Also, I found this thing on YouTube called "The Potter Games" which is going to be revealed on the 11****th**** of this month. It's Hunger Games related and they have a bunch of reaping stuff up. Check it out. It seems cool so far. It's actually what reminded me to post this chapter, lol. **

**Reviews are fantastic! Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So, thank you all so, so, soo much for the reviews. I really appreciate it! Here's the fourth chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Is there actually anyone delusional enough to think they created Harry Potter or the Hunger Games?

**Chapter Four**

Draco Malfoy hates me.

This is not a particularly recent revelation, but it's never been more noticeable. At each meal, he glares at me silently. It's possible that he didn't appreciate when I laughed in his face.

Still, I'd rather face the heat of Malfoy's glares than head off to training. I've been avoiding looking at Anthony all morning, and he's been doing the same. He must be feeling betrayed that I didn't want to train together, and I'm sad that I've upset him but I have to keep my focus on what's important.

What I'm so anxious about is seeing Remus. Ever since reading about his year in the Games last night, I've both wanted to talk to him and never see him again. Part of me is terrified about the fact that his lycanthropy seems to be the only reason behind his victory.

I train first today, and Remus begins to question me about my strengths. I give one-word answers: Charms. Arithmancy. When asked my weaknesses, I respond in the same manner: Divination. Flying.

Remus notices my distraction and questions me on it.

"I wanted to get ahead of the readings," I say. His shoulders tense, but I continue. "I read to nineteen-seventy five…your year."

"Really now?"

"Yes," I say, unsure of what else to say. Perhaps I should have pretended as if nothing was wrong.

"You want a different mentor," Remus says coolly. "I understand, of course, but I'm afraid it's not possible to switch mentors."

"What are you- I never said I wanted to switch mentors," I say and fold my arms in irritation. "Are you that eager to get rid of me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snaps. "Your life is at stake. My condition probably hasn't instilled any confidence in me."

Anger wells up in me again. "Can you stop feeling sorry for yourself for two minutes so we can get to work?"

Remus examines me carefully, his brow furrowed together as he tries to understand some unspoken puzzle.

"So you know. I'm a monster." He doesn't hide the shame from his face or voice. He sounds wearier than anything else and despite how he jeopardized my chance of survival with his actions the day he was chosen, I can't help but feel bad for him.

"You aren't," I tell him. "You can't help that you're a werewolf. Some ignorant people may think that makes you a monster, but I don't. The only way I would think you're a monster is if you don't try your hardest to help me survive the Games."

"I never wanted this," Remus says. "I never wanted to be a tribute, and I sure as hell never wanted to be a mentor. I should have died in there, Hermione."

"Well, you didn't," I say, my voice harsher than I intended. "For whatever reason, you didn't. I need your help, Remus. You can't keep yourself focused on your Games, on what happened. You've got to move on. My life depends on it."

The sentiment seems to refocus Remus and he nods slowly. "We need to discuss strategy. There may be times in the Games where you don't want to kill, perhaps if you encounter a friend. I don't suggest being too spell-shy though. The Games change people. Your best friends can become your worst enemies, but I think we should focus on protective spells first. How skilled are you at Shield Charms?"

Mandy sits alone in the corner of the circular common room. Her knees are tucked to her chest as she stares at the wall. I walk over to her and sit down.

"How are you doing?" I ask her. It's strange that it's been so little time but it feels like I haven't talked to her in forever.

Her eyes blaze with fury. "Don't," she hisses. "Don't you _dare_."

I don't understand what I've done wrong and I tell her so. She stands up at the question, angrier than before.

"You don't even know," Mandy says, holding her hands over her eyes. "How do you not know? How…how could you possibly do this, Hermione?"

She waits for an answer, but I shrug helplessly. "I don't know what you're talking about so I really can't answer that."

"Don't pretend you don't know," she says harshly.

Then it clicks.

"Is this about Anthony?" I ask. "Look, you don't really have any right to tell me how to train."

"What are _you_ talking about?" Mandy shouts as she begins to pace. I notice that we've attracted the attention of the rest of the tributes who are in the common room. From the couches in front of the fireplace, Pansy, Astoria, and Millicent whisper as they watch us. "This isn't about Anthony. This is about you!"

I wait for her to tell me what I've done wrong, but she stares at me in expectation.

"So…you're not going to tell me what I did," I say.

She shrieks and throws her hands up over her head before storming up the stairs. I don't look to my friends. I don't want to see how they're reacting to Mandy's outburst. My eyes lock on gray ones, strangely captivated even though I can't stand Malfoy. My hands itch at my side, wanting to slap the smirk off his face.

I refrain because I still have a shred of sanity buried somewhere deep inside. I sit down in one of the armchairs and think about everything that's happened over the last few days. I don't like the way I'm behaving, but I think Remus is right. The Games do change people, but I feel like I'm changing already. I can't get rid of this building anger inside of me, and if I'm not careful, I'm going to blow up at the wrong person.

Terry and Michael try to convince me to find Mandy and fix things, but I still don't know what I've done wrong and they won't tell me. Anthony is avoiding me. If Mandy's is irked about something besides refusing to train with Anthony, I can't put my finger on it. Luna, on the other hand, seems just as confused as I am. Then again, it's Luna so I'm never sure when she's actually confused and when she's seeing something I'm not.

"It could be Pingledabblers," Luna said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "They're said to be where the Confundus Charm originated from because their scaly wings have the ability to confuse anyone and anything it touches. It's rather remarkable. My father and I were planning to go find some this summer, but now, well, I suppose nothing's guaranteed."

I swallow hard, and I glance around nervously. Luna has said the one thing that the rest of us have tried so vehemently to avoid discussing whether it is by avoiding conversation or avoiding conversation about the Games. No one has dared to speak about the possibility of facing our own mortality. I am sure it is never far from the rest of the tributes' minds since it's always on mind, but it's never been verbalized.

Potter is staring intently at Luna and even Malfoy has an eyebrow raised as he pretends to read a text about dark magic. All of the Gryffindors present watch her openly as do the Hufflepuffs because she has one thing that we all want: a lack of fear.

We may have weeks until the Games, but that doesn't make the fear any less. For Luna to be so calm about the matter is something that we all envy, but Malfoy snorts softly and turns a page in his book. Under his breath, I hear him refer to her as 'Loony Lovegood'. Luna doesn't hear, but I know she wouldn't mind either way.

"Nothing's guaranteed if you plan on dying," Potter drawls, messing his hair up. "But I don't, so I guess that means you should, Loony."

Luna considers this for a moment. "None of us plan on dying though, do we, Harry?"

Maybe he's struck by the use of his first name or maybe he just doesn't want to deal with her, but he falls into silence. For some reason, Malfoy's smirk widens.

"Seems like you've run out of things to say, Potter," Ginny points out from her game of Wizard Chess with Ron. He's winning, but her knight captures a rook as she glares at Potter. "Maybe you can do us all a favor and keep your mouth shut."

"You better watch yourself, Weasley," Potter says, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I'm not above deciding who I take out in the arena before we go in."

A few of the Hufflepuffs quietly walk upstairs to avoid the possibility of confrontation.

"Don't threaten my sister, Potter," Ron snaps, his hand tight around one of his bishops.

Crabbe, one of Potter's cronies, cracks his knuckles as he stands and begins walking to Ron. It's clear who will win in a fist fight, and we can't use magic against each other until we're in the arena.

"Stop. Everyone, just stop. We don't have to do this now," I say, moving in between Crabbe and Ron which could prove to be a terrible idea because Crabbe still swings a fist. I duck just in time, but I hear Ron's nose crack and manage to look up to see blood trailing down his face.

And then the entire common room erupts into chaos. High-pitched, shrill screaming tortures my ears, and for some reason I can't identify, everyone's fighting- even the people who weren't involved in the argument. I slink away from the commotion and hide behind a tapestry.

If I try to find a professor, I'd have to leave the common room and I'd be noticed immediately. I'd prefer to stay out of it. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Malfoy observing the scene. He's not hiding like I am, but he's watching with unconcealed amusement. I realize that this has nothing to do with the argument at all. I'm not the only one who's been on edge and this is everyone else's way of raging about how they feel without actually saying it.

Without realizing what I'm doing, my eyes dart over to Malfoy to find that he's watching me. When he sees he's been caught, he doesn't jerk his head away as I expected him to. Instead, his sneer intensifies, hate burning in his eyes. The hate is so strong that I want to look away but I'm caught like a deer in headlights.

The fight causes quite a few things to happen. The Hufflepuffs are oblivious to the entire thing. The Ravenclaws attempt to remain neutral, weighing the results in their mind. I know that we all have issues we want to air, but it may not be the most intelligent thing to do at the moment.

The tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins is stronger than ever, but there are rifts in each house as well. Astoria and Pansy aren't speaking to each other due to some odd love triangle with Malfoy. Ginny's irritated that Ron didn't let her stand up for herself. By the time Michael recants this all to me, I've skimmed the rest of the required readings.

Ron returns to the common room after dinner, but he talks nasally as he shoots dark looks at Crabbe. The strain is worse than before because despite how everyone took their anger out on each other, it doesn't change anything. There are still twenty-four tributes, and there will still be twenty-three of us that die.

"I'm glad to hear you've finished your readings," Remus says with an appreciative smile during the next day at training. "I admit that I didn't expect you to finish them so easily. Today, we're going to do a quick review of Shield Charms. You were very good with them yesterday, but I want you to get a little more practice. You've probably encountered Disarming Charms before, but we'll want to go over them. They can be rather tricky, and you don't want to lose your wand. We're going to cover a few jinxes and hexes today, too, but I…"

Remus' lips thin into a wary frown, and I almost don't ask but curiosity bests me. "What's the matter, Remus?"

He hesitates and sits down, rubbing his temples. "Do you know who Scabior Rosier is, Hermione?"

I nod. I remember him from my readings: Slytherin Victor of the Thirty-Seventh Hogwarts Games. His strategy was hunting and snatching the other tributes, toying with them a bit, and then ultimately killing them. It's not the worst method by far, but the idea of hunting makes me feel like an animal, knowing I'm to be one of the hunted and the hunters. He's also Malfoy and Astoria's mentor for the Games.

"Imagine my surprise when he came to me and made an offer," Remus says. "I would have thought you would have told me, but I must confess that I'm not sure how wise this is."

"I'm not following," I say.

Remus sighs. "Hermione, Draco Malfoy has personally requested to form an alliance with you."

**A/N: That's chapter four! Please keep up the reviews, alerts and faves. They're fantastic, and I really appreciate it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I like cookies- chocolate chip, peanut butter, sugar…almost all cookies except for oatmeal raisin. This has been my disclaimer.

**A/N:** Hey all. So, wow. I was pretty much overwhelmed and overjoyed by the amazing response from the last chapter. This would have been up sooner if it wasn't for a lovely dose of Writer's Block, scurrying around to get a passport, heat-induced laziness, and yada yada yada. Also, I've been suffering a bit from Post Poster Depression Disorder.

Also, you guys are writing awesome reviews. I truly appreciate each and every one of you. All of the feedback has been both insightful and intriguing, especially to see your thoughts about Hermione and Draco. I know it's against policy to respond to reviews on here. Otherwise, I so totally would. Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter Five**

I am a logical person. Ask anyone who's met me. They'll tell you that within thirty seconds of discussing me, although some people might use the term 'know-it-all' instead of logical, but I digress. The point is that whenever I'm placed in a situation, I analyze it from each and every angle possible.

So when Remus tells me that Malfoy requested an alliance with me, I can only stare at him. His lips are pressed so tightly together that they cause his cheeks to wrinkle up. He's not laughing, so I force out a chuckle.

"Good one, Remus," I say weakly. "We should probably get to work though."

He rubs his temples. "I wouldn't joke about this, Hermione. The Games are no laughing matter."

If I wasn't sitting already, I might have fallen to the ground. "But why? I'm a Muggleborn, and everyone knows that Malfoys and Muggleborns don't mix well. It's rather like oil and vinegar."

"I know of the Malfoy family," Remus says. "Draco's father, Lucius, is a constant supporter of laws that restrict people with my ailment from fully participating in the Wizarding world."

I nod. I had not known that, but the fact doesn't surprise me. "You can see why I'm a bit unnerved by this then, right?"

"Oh, of course," Remus says. "I would worry if you weren't. We need to decide how to handle this offer. Do you reject it based on what you know of Draco's character, or do you mull it over?"

"Mull it over?" I ask. "Why would I do that?"

"I believe there to be two reasons that he would request an alliance with you," Remus says, folding his hands under his chin. "The first is to eliminate you quickly by allowing you to believe you're safe in his company due to your alliance. Your status as a Muggleborn will make you a target to some, Hermione. Don't forget that."

"I know. But the second reason?"

"If we give young Malfoy the benefit of the doubt and say his request is genuine, it would be due to your ability," Remus says. "Your rank at the top of your classes is not unknown to your classmates. People are willing to do many things to survive. Malfoy may be able to ignore his prejudices towards you if it means he has a better chance of survival with you as his ally."

"That's the purpose of an alliance," I say.

"Yes, but an alliance relies on the mutual protection of all those in an alliance. I am apprehensive that, perhaps, Malfoy will expect your protection as part of your alliance but run at the first sign of danger, even if it means breaking your alliance earlier than he had intended to."

"How do you know I wouldn't do the same thing?"

Remus narrows his eyes. "Because, unlike Draco and myself, I don't believe you're a coward."

"It's easy to believe that of me now though," I say and bite my lip. "But if there comes a time where cowardice is the most logical path for me to survive, I don't know if I can pretend I won't consider it."

"Very well," Remus says abruptly. "You need to make your decision. Do you want to accept his alliance or not?"

I don't answer for a few tense minutes as I think it over. Malfoy is a skilled wizard, and I'll be hard-pressed to find even a handful of potential allies as skilled as him. Still, the bad blood between us is undeniable and I doubt Malfoy truly has good intentions. He's a Slytherin, and as a Ravenclaw, I know better to fall for the trap that a snake like him could so cleverly and cunningly set.

If I accept it, I'm locked into it unless I want to break it beforehand and risk insulting Malfoy so severely that he decides to come after me immediately in the arena. If I reject it, I know he won't ask again but I'm not sure if it'll cause him to come after me any sooner than if I break off an alliance with him.

A dull throbbing fills my temple. I haven't been sleeping well lately, and I know this will keep me up all night tonight as I wonder if I made the right decision. But the nagging in my gut tells me what I have to do, what I have to tell Remus, so I take a deep breath and give my answer.

A few hours later, training is over for the day and I'm exhausted. I struggle not to fall asleep into the pot of mashed potatoes at dinner. I eat only because I know I need to keep my strength up as I attempt to ignore how angrily Mandy glares at me. I still don't know what I've done but decide not to ask her. I would prefer that an incident like last night, which caused all of the tributes to break out into a fight, doesn't happen in such a public space as the Great Hall.

"This is a lovely radish," Luna says as she nibbles on the purple radish.

I can't help but stare at her red radish earrings that hit her face lightly as she eats. Luna is a vegetarian and finding food to eat will be easier for her than it will be for the rest of us. Of course, we can hunt for animals to eat, but that takes time as does cooking the meat.

Perhaps I should try to adjust my diet to eat more like her to train my stomach for what will happen in a little less than six weeks. Her plate is filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables, and I place a few more onto mine before beginning to eat once again.

The table, with the exception of Luna's occasional dreamy remarks, is eerily silent. Even the Hufflepuffs stay quiet despite having no idea what happened last night. I wonder if Malfoy knows how I responded to his request. I don't think so because his hateful glare has not changed from its usual state. No, it is filled with the same venom as usual- no more and no less than usual. He must not know then.

I swallow back the skin of an apple and almost choke as I wonder if I made the right choice. Is this what the rest of my life will be like? Am I destined to live in a state of constant uncertainty and fear that I've chosen the wrong path, marked myself for death before I've even stepped into the arena?

As I sneak another glance at Malfoy, I realize that I am. It doesn't matter how I responded to his request, because life will never return to the certainty it once held for me. There's a good chance that I'll never graduate, that I'll never get S.P.E.W. approved by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, that I'll never travel the world, that I'll never get married or have children, and that I'll never become the witch I want to be. There's a good chance I won't be anyone at all.

After dinner, students flood from the Great Hall. Instead of following the other tributes upstairs, I head outside to the Black Lake. Strangely, the night is cool unlike how humid the day was. I rest against the nook of the tree with my knees tucked up to my chest.

I remember Luna's words from the night before- the ones that caused the fight. I try to push them away because I don't want to think about the uncertainty of it all.

"What are you doing out here, Granger? I would have expected you to be in bed like a good girl by now. Don't you know the kind of things that go bump in the night?"

His voice startles me since I hadn't realized he was behind me. I close my eyes and let my head fall against the bark of the tree. "Is there something you want, Malfoy?"

"My mentor told me you rejected my request for an alliance," Malfoy says as he takes a seat next to me. "Now, tell me, Granger, why would you want to do something so utterly brainless as that?"

"Forgive me if I have no reason to trust you," I say. "You haven't exactly proven yourself to have a trustworthy character."

His lip curls up in fury. "Do you have any idea how infuriating you are, Granger? Do you think I'm just going around requesting alliances with anyone and everyone?"

"No," I say and shrug. "There are plenty of people I know you wouldn't request an alliance with such as, first and foremost, Owen Cauldwell and Eleanor Branstone since they're the youngest of us all. I also don't think you'll be befriending any of the other Hufflepuffs in the near future although I don't really think you're capable of befriending anyone, to be honest."

"You forget I was friends with Krum," Malfoy says quietly. "That should mean something."

"Don't," I snap. "Don't you dare mention Viktor to me. You have no right."

"He was my friend," Malfoy says as his handsome face contorting into an ugly snarl. "Don't act like you're the only one who misses him."

"Sorry," I say unapologetically. "I wasn't aware you had the capacity to miss anyone. And he was my…look, I don't want to talk about this any longer."

"That's right, Granger. Go ahead and wonder what you were to him. Wonder about what would have happened between the two of you if he had made it out," Malfoy says. "Drive yourself crazy thinking about it."

I don't tell him that I already have. Viktor was kind and sweet, and he wasn't the smartest guy I've ever known. I even tutored him in Charms during my third year despite him being three years older than me. If it wasn't for his brute strength, I think he would have died sooner.

It had taken less than six weeks for me to fall for him after he kissed me that night. Six weeks of something akin to bliss before it all ended. It was stupid and impractical for me to have even entertained the notion of liking him, let alone falling for him. Perhaps it would have never worked out, and perhaps nothing would have resulted if he had never been chosen by the goblet. We were two very different people but it worked for us. I don't know if a long-term relationship with him would have been successful, but we didn't even get the chance to try.

I must be silent for too long because Malfoy eventually speaks again, his voice much quieter than before.

"You never answered my question," Malfoy says. "What are you doing out here?"

I tug my hair over my shoulder. "I didn't want to go back there. It's draining being in the same room as everyone else, but the solitude in my room is just as bad."

"You wanted to be alone out here though," Malfoy points out.

"Yeah, but it's more peaceful. Know what I mean?"

Malfoy nods gently. "I won't pretend that I'm not disappointed that I might be missing another fight in the common room, but I'm sure they'll be more."

"You would miss that," I say and roll my eyes in amusement. "I've had quite enough of being yelled at and dodging punches this week."

"Granger, take my advice on this," Malfoy says. "You need to patch things up with Brocklehurst. She seems smart enough, loyal too. You'll want her on your side. It should be easy to fix. After all, the fight is entirely your fault after all."

"My fault?" I ask loudly, sitting up. "I don't even know what I did."

"Oh, you were serious about that?" Malfoy asks. Then he laughs a bit. "I thought you just didn't like confrontation. Granger, do you really not get it? She's pissed that you volunteered for the Patil girl. Do you blame her?"

Well, now I feel quite stupid. Even Malfoy figured it out before I did. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. After all, Mandy and I did make an Unbreakable Vow to never sacrifice ourselves for the other. While I didn't break the vow, I'm sure she's not pleased that I ended up in the Games with her and Luna. But did she really expect me to not volunteer for Padma? Did she really think I could let Padma fight in the same arena as her twin sister? I'm not heartless.

"I…oh no," I say, and as I watch his face for any trace of insincerity, but there isn't any. "Why do you care if she's mad at me, Malfoy?"

"Because Granger, you may not trust me, but I'm the best chance you've got at getting out of the arena alive," Malfoy says, but only after he's checked to make sure we're the only ones around. "I'm going to give you one more chance before I get frustrated. You need to accept my request, got it?"

I stand up suddenly and stare down at him in disbelief. "I know I shouldn't be surprised, but here I thought we were having a decent conversation and it's all just to slyly convince me to be your ally? Look, there's a reason I rejected the request. You're a Slytherin, and I don't trust you. One conversation isn't going to change that."

Malfoy stands up and begins to follow me as I walk away. His hand clasps around my arm like it did during our last encounter, and it's as painfully firm as the last time. I try to jerk it away but he doesn't relent.

"If you don't accept me as your ally, Viktor will have died in vain," Malfoy says, his pointed chin pressed against my cheek as his voice drops to a whisper. The comment causes anger to bubble in my gut. "I swear to Merlin if you reject my alliance, you'll bloody regret it, Mudblood."

I'm not thinking clearly, but I can't regret it as I watch my fist collide with his eye. The burst of expletives that stream from his mouth fills me with an odd sense of pleasure.

"Next time you try to acquire an ally, Malfoy, try to remember that insulting them won't buy you many points," I say and turn away.

I make it back into the castle before I let out a whimper at the throbbing pain coursing through my hand. The only regret I have is that I've damaged my wand hand. I know my healing spells but won't test myself by using my left hand. Instead, thirty minutes and a quick trip to Madam Pomfrey later, I'm feeling even better than before due to my newly healed hand and a Calming Draught.

Praying that I don't run into Malfoy, I head back to the common room. Mandy is sitting with Luna, talking quietly but falls silent when I walk through the gate. Unfortunately for me, Malfoy is sitting in the corner of the common room with Astoria and Pansy preening over his already swollen, purpling eye. I frown to myself. It was a good hit, but there's no way it produced _that_.

"Hey, you two," I say as I take a nervous seat beside them. "How's your day been?"

"You've got some audacity to come up to me right now," Mandy says and crosses her arms. "Are you even going to apologize?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'm sorry that what I did, my volunteering for Padma, upset you, but I don't regret it. She's my friend, too, Mandy. How would you feel if your brother was old enough to come to Hogwarts and ended up as a tribute with you? Wouldn't you want someone to volunteer?"

"That's completely different."

"It's not," Luna says, defending me. "Not at all, really. I think Hermione was very brave for what she did and maybe it wasn't the smartest thing, but it was the bravest."

Mandy shakes her head, causing her dark hair to fly frantically about as her blue eyes pierce me. "Stay out of it, Luna. It's different, and I don't accept your apology, Hermione. You may be my best friend, but I can't forgive you for this, at least not yet. I wish I could, but I just can't."

"Fine," I whisper. "I'm rather tired. I think I'll go to bed."

Luna calls after me, but I ignore her. I shut the door behind me and almost throw myself on my bed when I notice a well-used book centered on the comforter. A note rests on top of the book and I gingerly grab for it, hoping there's no curse placed on it.

_Granger-_

_ Thought you may like these for future readings. Not sure how much you've read on these subjects. _

_ P.S. You've got a good right hook, but I'd appreciate it if you don't use it on me again._

_ -DM_

I'm about to march downstairs and give him a right smack again, but my brain finally works again. Furiously thinking of how his words suggest that he didn't deserve the punch, I check the books for jinxes and curses but he hasn't done anything to them. It's when I look down at the titles that I'm confused: _Edible or Poisonous? A Novel on the Nature of Magical Plants_ and _Basic Healing_.

I've decided that Draco Malfoy is certifiably insane, because there's no other explanation for his behavior towards me. I mean, I just punched him in the face and not even an hour later, I find a helpful gift from him. He must have realized I was serious about rejecting his alliance and decided to up his game. Too bad for him that I'll never change my mind about him.

On the bright side, the books seem helpful enough and are rather fascinating. I can't help but wonder if this is his way of apologizing but I don't think about it too long. If he is apologizing, it's only to form the alliance. I can't let my guard down around him, because it's different than all the times he's bullied me in the past. This is truly a matter of life and death.

**A/N: **Mwahaha, that's chapter five! Also, one of you (treeson) gave me a great website analyzing Collins' writing style. I thought it was absolutely fantastic and wanted to share it with the rest of you since it's so spot-on about writing in general. Here it is: internspills .blogspot. com/2011/07/how-books-work-hunger-games-part-1 .html

Please keep up the reviews, alerts and faves. They're lovely, and who doesn't love reviews? Until next time, dears.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Um, hi there…*dodges tomatoes and grenades*. I'm so sorry for the extremely ridiculous delay. I had a really terrible, trying year, and so fanfiction got put on the back burner. Thank you all so much for the reviews! I was totally blown away by reviews, favs, and alerts. You guys are rock stars. One thing I wanted to clarify is that Draco is supposed to come across as creepy at the moment. There is a method to my madness, I promise, and it's not that I think creepy guys are romantic. The romance won't be in the story for quite some time.

**Disclaimer**: Is this really even necessary?

**Chapter Six**

Sunlight sneaks through my curtains, and I press my pillow over my eyes. I'm ready to shout down to my mum that I'll be down for breakfast soon when I remember where I am. I'm back at Hogwarts, training as a tribute for the Hogwarts Games. I groan at the idea of my mum's undercooked pancakes- something I could very well never be able to pretend to enjoy again.

Three weeks have passed since I've spoken to Draco. I'm avoiding him as skillfully as Anthony and Mandy are avoiding me. If only the purpose of the Games was to avoid my opponents, I could have a good shot of winning.

I stretch and prepare for the day, thinking of what Remus and I can work on today before remembering we won't be training today. Despite being kept up half the night from the anxiety welling in my stomach, I had forgotten.

Today is the Ranking Day. Today, I will be given a number that shows the Wizarding World how much worth I have. Am I a good gamble or should they place their galleons on a safer bet?

I know I can do this. I'm top of my class for a reason, and my dueling has been improving thanks to Remus. Still, I can't be too confident.

I shower quickly, ready for the day to end already, and head downstairs after dressing. I am the first to arrive. As minutes tick by in my mind, the rest of the tributes solemnly make their way down the stairwell. We don't look at each other. We don't speak. Minister Potter enters the room and speaks, but I can't focus on what he's saying. He leads us down out of the dorm, down the corridor, down the staircase. Down, down, down. I notice, though, that he doesn't say goodbye to any of us, not even his son, but I attribute it to the pain of knowing his son might not make it out alive. But then I tell myself that I'm being absurd because Minister Potter's arrogance is a thing of legends.

"Greetings, tributes," Dumbledore cheerily shouts as we enter the Great Hall. No one responds. The rest of the student body has already finished their meals. We are led to our table, once again reminded of the separation between us and our classmates. "Today you will demonstrate your skills. Students, please make your way to your first class of the day."

A collective whine goes through the Great Hall. They want to watch, but they know they're not allowed. Ranking is the one thing that isn't recorded. I have a few theories for why that is, but it's never been proved one way or the other. Even the books I've read skim over the issue, probably too afraid to publish the truth or any information relatively close to the truth, afraid to upset the precious Ministry.

Ranking is done by the number of tributes. Since there are twenty-four tributes, you can rank anywhere from one to twenty-four. Twenty-four is obviously the worst, and one is ideal. I'd prefer a one (but would settle for a two or three happily), but I have two main things going against a high score for me: this isn't an ideal world, and I'm a muggleborn, which while they pretend it doesn't lower your score it does.

The top twelve is ideal because it means that, obviously, you're in the top-half of the tributes and more likely to attract sponsors. That doesn't mean people can't or don't sponsor lower ranked, but there's less urgency about it.

Once the Great Hall's been cleared, Dumbledore taps his wand against the Goblet of Glory, which glows red. Gryffindor's first. My nerves patter in my stomach this morning, so I don't mind not going first. Since it's alphabetical, order's already decided, which amps up my nerves because I don't think I'm ready for this.

The cup glows yellow next: Hufflepuff, and then it glows green for Slytherin. Lastly, which I'm starting to think keeps happening, the goblet glows blue. I'll be the second to last person out of twenty four people to go. I didn't want to be first, but I didn't particularly want to be so close to last either.

We clear out into the hallway, a strange, special passageway made for us with four long benches for us to sit on while we wait. How considerate of them to at least allow us to sit while the minutes of our lives slip through the hourglass.

Katie Bell's first up and she keeps her chin up as the doors shut behind her.

"So, Granger," Malfoy asks from his reclined position on the Slytherin bench, "prepared to die?"

The Slytherins snicker as if this is top-grade material except for Potter, who doesn't seem to find Malfoy as funny as the others, but as I look at Malfoy, I see that there's no smirk or sneer on his face. It's just blank, void of anything, which is rather unsettling.

"You're so clever, Malfoy. Remind me again why the hat didn't sort you into Ravenclaw."

It's not my best comeback, but I'm nervous about the ranking.

Malfoy watches me for another minute and then stares at the door.

This is the most we've spoken since the night I punched him in the face and he gave me the books, which I should thank him for because they were rather informative. I'm sure they were books from his family's library, since as a pureblood, he's blessed with the type of wealth that gives you a library in your own home filled with ancient books.

Since we haven't spoken, Malfoy hasn't made any more offers for an alliance, which I've started to realize I should have thought about longer because Malfoy's a deadly dueler.

At the end of the bench, Mandy's biting her nails like she does when she's nervous. We still haven't made up. I already apologized once. I refuse to apologize again. I still have some pride. Anthony's still mad at me, too. I'm probably going to have alienated all my friends by the time the Games actually start.

Katie Bell comes up, shaken and fatigued, and leaves for the dormitory without uttering another word to any of us. Seamus Finnigan is next. He takes only five minutes and emerges with a victorious grin on his face. Neville Longbottom drops his wand four times on the way to the door, and squeaks as beads of sweat pool around his ears. Twenty-five minutes elapse before he leaves. Next is Parvati, whom I silently wish good luck. When she leaves, her eyes are panicked. Ginny Weasley only takes three minutes, and leaves with a wide smile on her face. Ron Weasley, however, takes sixteen minutes, and leaves with a flustered, flushed complexion.

Then the Gryffindors are all gone, and I'm more jealous of them than I have been in my entire life.

Hannah Abbott squeezes Justin Finch-Fletchley's hand before she enters. She leaves somewhat proud. Susan Bones takes eighteen shaky breaths before she can force herself to go in, but she leaves much calmer than how she entered. Eleanor Branston cries on the way out, and Owen Cauldwell beats at the door, begging for another chance. If the Gamemakers hear him, I'm sure it'll count against him. Justin Finch-Fletchley leaves without looking at anyone, completely emotionless, and Zacharias Smith gives a haughty, boasting laugh as he waves a mocking goodbye. I've never liked him.

Millicent Bulstrode is next and looks angry going in and angry coming out, although I think that's just her default facial expression. Vincent Crabbe frowns on the way in, and like Millicent, I'm pretty sure that's the only expression his face has. Astoria Greengrass finger combs her hair and whispers something to Malfoy, who smirks and nods in response. Her smile is closed-lipped, but present when she's finished. Malfoy smooths back his hair, and leaves with a satisfied sneer-smirk. Pansy Parkinson doesn't frown or smile or flinch going in, but her grin is ecstatic and slightly twisted when she's done. Potter, however, seems a bit nervous, and doesn't look any happier when he's done.

Then, Terry's up, and I realize how close it is to my turn. We wish Terry good luck, but he only nods. When he's done, he comes up to us and mouths something but can't find words, and ultimately leaves. Mandy pastes on a too-bright smile to show us that she feels fine even though it's clear she doesn't. She's in tears when she leaves. Anthony is next and startled by Mandy, He keeps turning his head back around to see if she'll come back but she doesn't.

Only Luna and I remain.

"Today would be a beautiful day for jellyfish catching," Luna says.

"Definitely," I say, and then mutter to myself, "if only they're the kind that'd kill me quick and easy."

"It'd be hard to tell," Luna, who somehow still heard me, says. "Besides, they're rarely fatal in the Magical world. It's only Muggles who haven't discovered the antidote to all jellies' stings."

There was a girl in the house across from my family's when I was younger, and her name was Serenity. She wore moccasins and cut her own hair. She prayed for snow in summer and did rain dances with hoola hoops. There was something a little funny about her, but I told her all of my secrets when I was younger.

Luna reminds me of her.

It's hard to sit here and realize that the time is winding down. Even if I do make it out of the Games, will it be worth it without my friends?

Finally, Anthony walks out with pursed lips. He gives us a shrug and leaves.

I make my way to the door and close my eyes for a moment. Despite earlier being irritated about being second-to-last, I'm pleased now since I can allow myself the minor vulnerability before I get myself together and enter the Great Hall.

"Hermione Granger, Ravenclaw, Muggleborn," Dolores Umbridge speaks the last word as if she's chewing a Cockroach Cluster. "Sixth year."

I step forward, ignoring the ominous shutting of the oak doors behind me.

Next to Umbridge, Minister Potter sits. On his right, sits Alastor Moody, Alice Longbottom, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Gwenog Jones, and Xenophilius Lovegood. I try not to make eye contact with Mr. Lovegood. I know him the best, as Luna's father, than any of the others.

On Umbridge's left, sits Bellatrix Black, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Bartemius Crouch Junior, Alecto Carrow.

I realize that Rosmerta's gone, reminding me that she was chosen for Susan and Zacharias's mentor and therefore had to give up her Gamemaker position this year. Rosmerta's always been kind to me at the Three Broomsticks. Sometimes, when she's in a good mood and I help her out with the proper freezing charms, she gives me a free Butterbeer. It would have benefited me if she was a Gamemaker.

Bellatrix Black picks meat out of her teeth with a silver fork, and Alice Longbottom appears to be drifting off to sleep. Minister Potter and Alastor Moody are talking about new regulations for the Auror Department. Mr. Lovegood is explaining to Gwenog Jones how Freeple Zoxslingers are the reason why brooms can fly in the air without hitting the ground, and she's politely feigning interest.

Finally, Umbridge lets out a little, "A-hem", and everyone quiets immediately. "Elves!"

With that, three little pops ring out through the air. When the smoke clears, three house elves stand in front of the table.

"Your task," Umbridge says, "is to show us your skills by using these things to demonstrate."

_Things_.

At first, I don't get what Umbridge means. But then, the terrifying quickness of revelation hits me, and I get it.

Then I wish I didn't.

My stomach turns and for a moment, I swear I'm going to throw up. House elves are treated so abominably by purebloods. They may not be people, but shouldn't they have rights? Being forced to be tortured for this inhumane competition is disgusting.

I can't. I can't do this. It's not right.

I turn back towards the doors, but I know they won't open until I've done what the Gamemakers expect of me.

I could use something weak like a Stunning Spell, but really it's the principle of the matter.

When I get out of my own head for a minute, I realize that the elves are talking.

"Dobby is very sorry, sir," the middle house elf mutters to himself. "Dobby will shine your shoes properly next time, Master Malfoy. Dobby is so very grateful you have given him another chance and have not used the whip this time or ordered him to iron his fingers. Dobby does not like ironing his fingers, but will do it for you, sir. Very sorry, very sorry, very sorry, sir."

The house elf on the left sniffles, sucking her long thumb, as tears leak out of her eyes. "No, no, no, please, Master, not again. Winky has done nothing wrong! Winky has been good!"

On the right, the hunchbacked house elf stared up at Bellatrix Black. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black. Kreacher is honored to be chosen for this duty for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

I force myself to take a deep breath, even though I know what's happening here is so wrong.

No, I decide, I won't let this stand. They'll pay for this.

I illusion the air in front of me to block the Gamemakers from seeing me. Then I reach down and grab my sock, transfiguring it to a rat. Quickly, I throw the rat in Lucius Malfoy's direction, causing Mr. Malfoy to leap back and Mrs. Malfoy to sputter in fright. Bellatrix Black cackles gleefully, but everyone just stares at me. Malfoy sends the rat flying with a spell.

"Dobby!" Mr. Malfoy demands. "Get that thing out of here."

"Yes, Master," Dobby says with an impressively low bow, "right away, sir."

I aim towards Dobby. "Finite Incantatem."

The rat morphs into a white sock with pink toes.

Mr. Malfoy stares at me in fury, drawing his cane in my direction. "You lost me my servant, girl!"

I have the vaguest feeling that if he wasn't giving me the most terrifying glare, the fact that he hides his wand in his cane might amuse me.

I don't hear his words as he mutters them softly, but shout, "Protego!"

The rest of the Gamemakers gape at me as if I've lost my mind and they're wondering what I'm doing out of St. Mungo's.

I flee to the door, not turning around so I can keep my eyes on them, murmur a spell to burst through the door's sealing charm, and then because I'm still furious and want to add to it all for good measure, I point my wand in Mr. Malfoy's direction again and shout, "Avis!"

The flock of birds surround him pecking at him and chirping merrily. I sprint, not giving Luna a glance, and smack my hand over my eyes.

What did I just do?

I couldn't help it. I just got so angry at them for treating those poor house elves like inferior creatures. It's like when everyone made fun of Luna and I cursed her shoes so that if anyone tried to steal them, they'd have THIEF marked in their face in permanent dots. People left her alone after that, though.

Later, when Luna, Terry, and I are sitting by the fire chatting softly, Terry brings up the topic I don't want to discuss. Luna saves me by talking first, a rare occurrence in a conversation with her.

"I don't think that went as well as it should have," Luna says, her voice dreamy like usual. "Daddy looked pleased, but sometimes I don't think people understand me."

I have to ask. "What did you do?"

"Well," Luna says. "There were three peliguinos in the room, and _you _know what they make you do. So I began to hum and dance the foxtrot, waving my arms around. I grabbed one of the peliguinos in my arms and began to demonstrate the birthing ritual of peliguinos. Then, when they least expected it, I drew my wand and placed a Tickling Charm of the Head Gamemaker."

Terry shakes his head. "The last part sounds not entirely terrible."

"I'm sure you did fine," I lie.

It's not that I don't think Luna's smart or anything. I do, but if that's what she did after I infuriated the Gamemakers, what score is she going to get? Anger, at myself, flows through me. What if my stupid foolishness gets Luna killed because of a low score?

Terry leans in. "When I go to the kitchens after doing prefect rounds, you know how there's always house elves serving, right? What they wanted us to do felt so weird. I kept picturing those three elves as the ones who hand me my hot chocolate."

I have to know. "Did you actually do it?"

Terry's eyebrows narrow in confusion. "Well, I didn't have a choice."

I bite my lip and decide not to argue.

"Why?" Terry asks. "What'd you do, Hermione?"

I take a breath before I speak and then I launch into it, "You know I care a lot about house elves' rights."

Luna nods, her hair shining ethereally as Terry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, SPEW," Terry says. "What about it?"

"It's S-P-E-W," I say irritatedly. He knows what it is. He's just being rude. "I gave it up when I found out the elves liked their job, but Terry, that wasn't fair to them. That's exactly the kind of thing I wanted to create S.P.E.W. for. They should have rights."

"They're just house elves," Terry said. "It's not that big of a deal."

I click my tongue, knowing we won't agree.

"We're all creatures," Luna says. "Would you like if you didn't have rights?"

Terry stands up. "I'm going down to dinner."

He leaves swiftly, probably deciding to stay away from me for good.

At least I still have Luna.

But with her score, which is bound to be low, I can't help but wonder how much longer I'll have her for.

* * *

><p>Tonight, in front of students and faculty and staff, we'll get our rankings. I'm not expecting anything above twenty. I can still work with that. No one's going to view me as a threat at twenty. Some people have used it as strategy before. So I keep telling myself that as I stare at Dumbledore, who's leading the school in singing the school song. It's all very disorganized, having people sing at whatever key they like, and rather silly too.<p>

The cameras are here again tonight, and the twenty-four of us sit solemnly. Even the Slytherins, whom I would have expected to be excited, are quiet.

Umbridge walks to Dumbledore and hands him the envelope. Inside is a paper that gives each of a number, a sense of how much we're worth. It's an inverse relationship: the higher the number, the less valuable you are. It's all rather barbaric.

"At number twenty five," Dumbledore pauses dramatically. "Owen Cauldwell."

The tiny boy stands as protocol dictates, although no one applauds for him, and sits down in a hurry. It's not a surprise considering how young and small he is, and how panicked he was before he went in.

Okay, so at least I'm not the last spot. Anything from here on out has to be an improvement, logically speaking.

"At number twenty-three, Eleanor Branstone."

Again, not really a surprise.

"At number twenty-two, Neville Longbottom."

Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan are stricken by this news, but no more so than Neville. It's not surprising since the Slytherins have gone around calling him Squib since fourth year, but it's surprising because his mother is one of the Gamemakers. Surely, she could have swayed it in his favor.

"At number twenty-one, Susan Bones."

Poor Susan. She looked like she thought she had done so well. She gives a sniffle now and covers her face.

"At number twenty, Parvati Patil."

I can't look over at Padma. Even though people can still sponsor someone ranked at twenty, I don't think Parvarti's going to get any. She's always been more concerned with clothing and gossiping than studying and it's going to show.

"At number nineteen, Luna Lovegood."

It's not the best score, but considering what Luna did it's relatively decent. It's not a twenty four, at least.

My fingers itch as I think of how I irritated the judges.

"At number eighteen, Katie Bell."

Katie's a star chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team, so I think the score isn't very accurate even if her spell work was shoddy. If the arena is one where we're all required to be on brooms, well, she'll be a lot better off than I will.

"At number seventeen, Mandy Brocklehurst."

That's not fair, actually. Mandy deserves higher than that.

Of course, I realize, no Slytherins have been called yet. They're probably all docked in the top twelve, probably even better.

"At number sixteen, Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Which is ridiculous, since Mandy's behind him. I mean, come on, Justin's afraid of his own shadow and has this huge paranoia issue with thinking everyone's out to get him because he's a Muggleborn. I'm sure the Slytherins won't exploit that issue _at all_ in the arena.

"At number fifteen, Hannah Abbott."

I hadn't expected her to do so well, but she had seemed proud of herself when she finished.

"At number fourteen, Terry Boot."

It's decent enough.

"At number thirteen, Michael Corner."

So close to cracking the top twelve. Plus, Michael's extremely handsome (it's hard not to notice), so that'll probably give him enough sponsors.

Which means, I realize suddenly, that _I'm_ in the top twelve. I have to hide my grin in my cupped hand.

"At number twelve, Ronald Weasley."

I'm not sure if that's really where he should be placed, but I guess the Gamemakers saw something in him.

"At number eleven, Zacharias Smith."

I don't know why, but I've never liked Zacharias. Someone should have gotten his spot that was more worthy of it.

"At number ten, Anthony Goldstein."

We all shoot Anthony congratulatory glances.

"At number nine, Pansy Parkinson."

It's the first Slytherin to be named at number nine, which is rather impressive, but I'm betting the Slytherins are already dismissing Pansy in their minds, ready to dispose of her first out of all of them.

"At number eight, Ginevra Weasley."

I hadn't known she was so accomplished, and oh my, my name still hasn't called.

"At number seven, Millicent Bulstrode."

I doubt she got her score based on skill. No, I'm sure hers was due to her size and brute strength. After all, people can injure and kill others without wands in the Games. It's merely easier to use wands.

"At number six, Seamus Finnigan."

Again, brute strength and force, or maybe he accidentally set something on fire and the Gamemakers thought it was intentional.

"At number five, Vincent Crabbe."

Same with Finnigan and Bulstrode. Still haven't been called. Is this possible? Or maybe they're kicking me out of the Games and sending me to Azkaban for…disrespect?

"At number four, Astoria Greengrass."

I would have thought she'd have placed higher.

"At number three, Harry Potter."

Crap. If the Gamemakers aren't sending me to Azkaban or having a Dementor suck out my soul that means that I scored higher than Potter, which means he'll definitely come after me in the arena. The only people left are Malfoy and me. It hurts to draw breath as I wait.

"At number two, Hermione Granger."

Two. I'm number two. How unbelievable and incredible. I can barely notice the proud and slightly envious looks of my friends.

"At number one, Draco Malfoy."

I make eye contact with Malfoy, who stands as expected with a sneer like he's so above all of it, and then sits. His eyes stay on me the entire time like he wants me to know that he's bested me, which he sort of has. Although, I'm the top of my classes, so I'm not able to understand why I wasn't ranked first, but that's fine. I'm not jealous or anything. It's not like I need to be the best.

A two is great for sponsors, but I realize that I'm going to be a prime target and that I've currently have no alliance and shot down the only chance at one I had. Malfoy ranked number one. If he wants to come after me to get revenge for me turning him down, it's not going to be that difficult. Considering that the Gamemakers probably gave me a two to either make me a threat or for my spunk, I doubt either would hold up in a duel with Draco Malfoy, son of a prominent pureblooded family that's known for practicing dark magic. Plus, Malfoy'll believe that I'm a legitimate threat as the person ranked right underneath him. If he didn't have enough motive to attack me before, he does now. Plus, he'll no doubt be leading the other Slytherins, which means I'll have six at-least decent wizards and witches after me like a squad of assassins. Plus, Anthony and Mandy (and now Terry probably) aren't too pleased with me as it is.

Perhaps a two isn't so good after all.

**A/N: So, I know it's a bit different than The Hunger Games, but I'm obviously putting my own spin on it. Also, you guys asked some great questions in your reviews, and I promise they have answers in the future. I'm so sorry to have been gone for so long, and I hope you review! Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged.**


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